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SUPERIOR 


TO CIRCUMSTANCES 


BY 

EMILY LUCAS BLACKALL 

Author of “ Melodies from Nature 




“ Any man or woman, in any age and under any circumstances, who 
wt//, can live the Heroic life, and exercise heroic influences.” 

— Charles Kingsley 


NOV 9 1889 /] 


BOSTON 

D LOTHROP COMPANY 

WASHINGTON STREET OPPOSITE BROMFIELD 




Copyright 1889 

BY 


Emily Lucas Blackall 


Heaven doth with us as we with torches do; 

Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues 
Did not go forth of us, ^twere all alike 
As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touched 
But to fine issues.” 


Measure for Measure. 


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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I, 

PAGE. 

A BLIGHTED HOME / 

CHAPTER II. 

MAGNOLIA BLOOM AND WINTER SKIES . 1 8 

CHAPTER HI. 

THE REV. J. AUGUSTUS BLANDING . . 3O 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE BOARDING HOME .... 44 

CHAPTER V. 

MRS. JEREMIAH BANKSTUN . . . 5 / 

CHAPTER VI. 

AT REST CASTLE 66 

CHAPTER VII. 

WORDSWORTH KINGSLY . ... gO 

CHAPTER VIII. 

CHRISTMAS EVE lOO 

CHAPTER IX. 

DARKNESS AND LIGHT . . . . IIO 

CHAPTER X. 

MOTHERDY 122 


V 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER XI. 

ENTERING INTO LIFE . . . . 1 35 

CHAPTER XII. 

HEIGHTS AND DEPTHS . . . . 1 53 

CHAPTER XIII. 

SUSPICION 166 

CHAPTER XIV. 

TRAIL OF THE SERPENT . . . I// 

CHAPTER XV. 

ACCUSATION 184 

CHAPTER XVI. 

TRUE LOVE RUNNING SMOOTH . . I95 

CHAPTER XVII. 

A FEMININE EQUILATERAL TRIANGLE . 202 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

VINDICATION 213 

CHAPTER XIX. 

PECULIAR SYMPTOMS .... 228 

CHAPTER XX. 

CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE . . . . 24O 

CHAPTER XXI. 

THE WEDDING BREAKFAST . . . 25O 

CHAPTER XXII. 


AT THE ZENITH 


264 


SUPERIOR TO CIRCUMSTANCES. 


CHAPTER I, 


A BLIGHTED HOME. 


“There is no true potency, remember, but that of help; nor 
true ambition, but ambition to save.” — Ruskin. 



E call it death, Miss Margaret, I grant, but 


a better way would be to try to think of 


your mother as but just beginning to truly live.'* 

‘‘ It is death, Mr. Blanding. I have watched 
its cruel course, and my precious mother is dead ! 
Oh ! my beautiful, perfect mother ! How can 
there be any life while she is cold and silent, and 
away from me } I thought God was good, but I 
now feel that he is pitiless, pitiless ! How could 
He let this dreadful thing happen V 

‘^God is good — very good. Miss Margaret, and 
very pitiful, and infinitely more loving than any 
earthly parent ever can be. He has done this 
which you call dreadful, has taken your mother 
away, for some wise purpose, and because it 


7 


8 


A BLIGHTED HOME. 


pleased Him so to do. We should not murmur at 
His doings, though they are at times hard to bear.'' 

These words were trippingly and gracefully 
spoken, but an undertone showing lack of real 
faith in them on the part of the speaker, produced 
a chilling effect upon his auditor, who, with a fer- 
vor amounting to vehemence, replied : 

Mr. Blanding, wait until something like this 
comes to you! You never have seen the cruel 
angel smite the one for whom you lived I Nor 
has your heart died at sight of the stilling of an- 
other that held in it your very life 1 Oh I do not 
tell me not to murmur at such a calamity as this I 
How can you pretend to know, when God has left 
you everything ? I cannot bear your words I " 
Margaret Strong rose and walked nervously 
about the room, her hands clutching each other, 
and her face revealing her inward agony. 

The Rev. Mr. Blanding also rose and stood with 
his back to the glowing fire, from which his ele- 
gant coat-skirts were guarded by a fender of exqui- 
site design. A hopeless look came over his face, 
as his eyes followed the movements of the stricken 
girl before him. If interpreted, the expression 
would have been : 

I am out of place here ; the things I know do 
not seem to be what people in real trouble want. 
I would give the world, at least my share in it, to 
know how to comfort such a sufferer." 


A BLIGHTED HOME. 


9 


Bringing his gaze back, he began slowly to draw 
on one of the faultless gloves he had been smooth- 
ing in a caressing fashion during his call. 

He broke a silence that was becoming unendur- 
able : 

‘‘Really, Miss Margaret, I meant to say some 
comforting words to you, and I beg you to be 
assured of my sympathy and good intentions, how- 
ever far I may have come from helping you. I 
would recommend you to read some of your favor- 
ite books now. Science and art are so absorbing, 
where one has a love for them such as you have, 
that^he circumstances of life dwindle into insig- 
nificance before them. I sincerely hope I shall 
find you restored to your accustomed poise of 
heart and mind when I again see you. And may 
I express the hope, also, that my present series of 
sermons on the justice of God’s ways to man will 
be helpful to you at this time of trial ? ” 

Margaret had paused near where he stood, and 
heard his words as one may hear without perceiv- 
ing. He extended a hand, to which she mechan- 
ically responded, and without further words on the 
part of either, he took his leave. 

She stood for a moment, then seeming to realize 
that she was alone, strode back and dropped into 
the chair she had left. There was a huskiness in 
the voice with which she gave expression to her 
feelings that told of tension of nerve and brain : 


lO 


A BLIGHTED HOME. 


It is easy to preach, easy to say it is all for the 
best, when one has all that is the best ! Anybody 
can be happy and thankful while he has all he 
wants. Oh ! this dreadful heartache ! What a 
mockery to tell me to read now ! The very pages 
would blind me ! If God wanted me to be happy, 
he never would have brought me to this. He 
knows there could be no calamity to me like this, 
and he could have spared me. If I could only 
forget ; forget everything, and for always ! ” 

Margaret had counted herself afflicted when, a 
few months before her mother’s death, her father 
had been taken away. She had loved him,#and 
had missed him when she could no longer see him. 
It touched her heart to see his favorite chair 
empty, and the books that had been his constant 
companions standing in their places unused. 

One of Satan’s most insidious and misleading 
temptations to those who love knowledge, is that 
of intellectual self-sufflciency. Nebuchadnezzar, 
before his brazen image, or Moses at the cleft rock, 
were not less mindful of the true source of their 
power than are those who, by the inflation of 
superior mental endowments, become addicted to 
self-admiration, or to the worship of mere mental 
brilliancy in others. 

It was into this snare that Margaret had been 
entrapped by the influence of a kind of literature 
in which her father had delighted, and for which, 


A BLIGHTED HOME. II 

unconsciously to herself, she had come to have 
an increasing relish. And the instruction she 
received from Mr. Blanding s pulpit was in no way 
calculated to counteract this influence. Stranded 
as she now felt herself to be, she realized that her 
newly-acquired line of thought and reading fur- 
nished no solace. 

Mr. Strong had been a silent, reserved man, 
living mostly among his books, and not seeming 
to need much of love or sympathy. Even his 
love for his wife did not often find expression in 
words. He lived as one secure in an income suf- 
ficient to maintain his family in luxury. 

Of his business affairs, his family knew noth- 
ing ; accustomed to his reticence, they had learned 
not to question. Once, as if by chance, he had 
said to his wife : I am a lucky man to have a 
brother who not only makes my money for me, 
but cares for all my business, and leaves me with 
hardly a thought concerning it.” And his brother, 
Pierre Strong, seemed a model man. 

Their home was in some respects ideal. The 
location was such as to catch the sunshine and 
the breezes at their best. In the furnishing, no 
one thing made impression except indeed the har- 
mony of the whole, and this was mainly due to 
the presiding genius, Mrs. Strong. A spirit of 
sincerity, and that indescribable quality called 
good taste, had fully entered into the making of 


12 


A BLIGHTED HOME. 


the home. And it was her death that had, to use 
Margaret's own words, ‘^blighted and wrecked 
the whole world for her." 

That a restful, peaceful picture should be hung 
so as to be the first thing noticeable on entering 
the apartment that made at once sitting-room, 
library and music-room, seemed only natural. It 
was as natural, too, that an exquisite bust of Bee- 
thoven should rest on the grand piano, whose 
keys had given their sweetest, most soulfull re- 
sponse to Mrs. Strong’s reverent touch. 

Margaret Strong had many fine characteristics, 
and an acute observer would discover in her rare 
possibilities. While she had the companionship 
of her mother she was seldom conscious of any 
lack in herself. Mrs. Strong’s intellectual force 
and sympathetic nature seemed to overflow and 
in some subtle way to endow her two daughters, 
and lift them to a plane near her own ; their faults 
seldom stood out in their true light while she was 
with them. 

Margaret’s sister, Amy, came into this world 
on a balmy June morning, and life to her seemed 
one bright holiday. Satisfied with herself and 
everything about her, she had lived undisturbed 
by ambitions or restless cares. No one could 
think of her as ever needing to battle with any- 
thing. She could not understand that every other 
nature was not just like her own, if indeed she 


A BLIGHTED HOME. 


13 


had observed that some were any different. She 
mourned her mother’s death, and it seemed to 
reveal a depth of character be|pre undeveloped ; 
but floods of tears brought relief, and after a little 
time she could easily forget her sorrow in the 
companionship of some congenial friend, or in the 
pages of a pleasing story. 

Margaret shed no tears, and saw no one whom 
she was not obliged to see. She had gone about 
silent, attending with scrupulous care to all the 
details of the housekeeping, but with no light nor 
hope in her face, and no elasticity in her step. 

One morning not long after the interview with 
Mr. Blanding, she said to her sister at the break- 
fast table, ‘‘Uncle Pierre will be here to tea this 
evening.” 

“ Oh ! how lovely, sister Margaret ! It is so long 
since we have had a visit from Uncle Pierre. I’ve 
been wondering why he hasn’t been here.” 

Margaret’s only answer was a look at her sister 
in which was expressed her amazement at Amy’s 
evident freedom from the state of mind into which 
she herself had fallen. 

But for the gloom that was everywhere present 
with Margaret at that time, it was a pleasing occa- 
sion on which Pierre Strong and his two nieces 
met around the tea table. For the first time 
since her mother’s death, Margaret had allowed 
the table to be laid in the usual way. It did not 


14 


A BLIGHTED HOME. 


hurt her so much to see her father’s place occu- 
pied, but her mother’s accustomed chair was held 
too sacred to be ^Hed by any one else. And yet 
she found no comfort in the thought that in some 
mysterious way the chair might still hold at times 
the loved one invisible to the eye of sense. The 
blessed, beautiful truth that to love is still to 
have, had not found its way into her soul. She 
thought of death only as a cruel power that had 
robbed her of her most precious possession, and 
made all the world vacant in consequence. 

‘‘It is really too bad, girls,” the uncle said, as 
they seated themselves at the table ; “ I ought to 
have been here long ago ; I meant to come earlier. 
I hope you will forgive me.” 

“We will forgive anything and everything, uncle, 
if you will only let us see you oftener,” answered 
Amy. 

“Trust a girl for forgiveness; I hope you’ll 
always feel so. And by the way, Margaret, I must 
ask your pardon for my delay in making the last 
month’s remittance.” As Margaret glanced across 
the table and full into the face of her father’s 
brother, she was struck with its look of restless- 
ness and weariness ; and there came into her heart 
a flutter of tenderness and pity for what she 
thought was only a physical malady. 

That he ate but little, and seemed less genial 
and entertaining than usual, she supposed was 


A BLIGHTED HOME. 


15 


owing to their peculiar circumstances. His evi- 
dent avoidance of any mention as to what they 
would do in the future, seemed less a neglect than 
a delicate consideration of their feelings, as well 
as his own. To their disappointment, he bade 
them an early good-night, upon the plea of needing 
rest. 

After he had gone, and Amy was sleeping as 
only the care-free can, Margaret sat before the 
fire and mused : 

Uncle is so changed; how thin and tired he 
looks ! I almost wish he had not come. I feel 
that I ought to do something to help him get well ; 
but how can I ? What can I do to help any one ? 
Oh ! if mother were only here, she would know 
just what ought to be done.’' And then the 
thought of her own woe dispelled every other for 
the time. 

A few days later the mail brought Margaret a 
letter, in the address of which she recognized the 
writing of her uncle. She sank into an easy chair, 
and in a dazed sort of way opened it, and while 
her heart now momentarily stood still, and then 
beat with distressing intensity, she read : 

Dear Margaret : 

I wonder if you will be surprised when you read this letter. 
With your clear instinct and unerring penetration, I think you 
may have read right into my very soul as we sat opposite at the 
tea-table. 


i6 


A BLIGHTED HOME. 


Oh ! the agony of those hours with you and Amy ! Let me say 
first of all, that but for the destruction of my manhood by stimu- 
lants, I never could have done what I have, nor write myself 
down as I do here. 

Even now there are times when my best self has sway, and I 
have thought I could rise again, but the fiends soon get the as- 
cendency, and then I am theirs, soul and body. I must use this 
lucid hour industriously, for any moment may find me without 
power to speak or act rationally. 

Let me blurt out the truth at once. I have wasted and lost 
everything! When I get out of the country, as I shall by the 
time this reaches you, I shall be without a penny, without a name, 
without a friend, and without hope I 

The vengeful eye of God will forever burn into my soul. But, 
Margaret, I didn’t start out to do a wrong thing. I was an up- 
right man, and the trust reposed in me was worthy. When my 
physician told me to take a tonic, the basis of which was too 
stimulating for me, I refused to touch it. But he insisted that I 
was worn with business and needed building up. The tonic 
seemed after a while to give strength. I learned to depend on it. 
I learned, too, that I could take other drinks that made me feel 
refreshed and renewed, for the time. 

And so it came about that I could not get along unless con- 
stantly under the influence of some stimulant. I began to realize 
that my brain was not always so clear as it had been, and that a 
feeling of hardness toward the world was growing upon me. My 
conscience was true at first, but I would not heed its warnings. 

I must not dwell upon this. I hope you and Amy will get 
along. I did think the home would be saved to you, but it will 
have to be given up to another, and the one whom your father 
and mother trusted as your safe guardian, will be a vagabond on 
the face of the earth! I deserve all the blame — yes, all the hate 
that you can give me ; I think it is a comfort to me to realize that 
I shall not escape this. Your ruined, 

Uncle Pierre. 


The faithful serving woman, Rhody, passed 


A BLIGHTED HOME. 


17 


about, attending to her duties, and sighed as she 
observed ^‘Miss Marg’et'’ resting in so unusual a 
manner at that time of day. Finally, Rhody's 
solicitude led her to come near enough to see that 
Margaret had fainted. Regaining consciousness, 
Margaret caught sight of the open letter, where it 
had fallen from her hands, and again sank as one 
lifeless. 

Daniel, the serving man, who had hastened in 
at Rhody's violent ring of the bell, stood with 
bared head, and face full of sympathy. 

‘‘ Go and fetch Mrs. Snow over, quick as ye can 
run,'’ Rhody said ; and Daniel went. 

‘‘Now, chile, ye musn't look at nuthin', or say 
nuthin', 'till ye git rested a little. Jest keep yer 
eyes tight shet." 

Rhody had noticed that it was the sight of the 
letter that had sent Margaret swooning the second 
time, but she had too much kindly tact to seem to 
know it. Without a rustle of the paper, after 
placing Margaret in a comfortable position, she 
put the letter carefully and safely out of sight. 


CHAPTER II. 


MAGNOLIA BLOOM AND WINTER SKIES. 


“The situation that has not its duty, its ideal, was never yet 
occupied by man. Yes; here, in this poor, miserable, hampered, 
despicable Actual, wherein thou even now standest, here or no- 
where is thy Ideal : work it out therefrom ; and working, believe, 
live, be free.” — Carlyle. 

C LAR to goodness, Dan’l, ef things ain’t jest 
like a waste howlderness ’round heah.” 

O, go ’long, now, Rhody ; what makes yah alius 
say it wrong ? Waste howlderness ain’t Scripter at 
all. Why don’t yer say waste howlin’ wilderness ? ” 
Have it yer own way, ole man ; I ain’t no time 
to be partickeler ’bout sech disportant things. 
Times is serus, Dan’l ; serus, I tell ye, and we’d 
better be gittin’ ready for wus times ’an these.” 

Alius lookin’ ahead, Rhody; well, I guess it’s 
a pretty peart way a-doin’. How’s Miss Marg’et 
now ? ” 

She’s cornin’ up ag’in, but she’s putty low 
down, and she’s got to be nussed up, or she’ll go 
right arter the ole Missus. Frettin’ an’ frettin’ 
’bout her mother wus bad enuff, but that letter’s 

i8 


MAGNOLIA BLOOM AND WINTER SKIES. I9 

the thing that took all the tuck out’n her. You 
and me, Dan’l, never took to book lamin’ no how 
you could fix it, an’ we can’t read no writin’, but 
we kin read folks putty straight, and I seed it wus 
when she sot her eyes on that yere letter that over 
she went ag’in, an’ it did ’pear like she’d never 
cum to till the angel Gabr’el blowed for her.” 

‘^Ef she wus more like Miss Amy, now, an’ 
didn’t take things to heart so, ’twould be better 
fur her. But folks ain’t all made alike, no how, 
an’ it’s good they ain’t, sometimes.” 

‘‘You’re right thar ag’in, Dan’l. Now, ef you 
wus made jest like me, you’d know I want the 
oven ready ter do its best bakin’ right away. I’m 
poundin’ this dough ’till it’ll make yer mouth 
water ter jest think of the beat biscuits Miss Mar- 
ge’t’ll have fur supper. I’ve thought an’ thought 
what I could scare up ter make her eat ; and all 
’twunst I said to myself, ‘ Rhody, what makes yer 
so wantin’ in thinkin’ the right thing Reg’lar 
ole Virginny beat biscuits’ll be the thing to make 
Miss Marg’et know she’s hungry.’” 

Daniel saw that the oven promised all right, and 
did his evening duties faithfully, but Rhody 
noticed that he did not whistle about his work as 
usual, and that the snatches of songs, he hummed 
had not their accustomed light-hearted tone. She 
had set him to thinking. Presently he came and 
sat by the table beside her, his hands resting on 


20 MAGNOLIA BLOOM AND WINTER SKIES. 

his knees, his soft hat slipped back, showing a 
rim of thick kinky hair about his forehead, and 
the expression of his honest face telling that he 
agreed with Rhody that ‘‘times was serus,” and 
they must consider what was to be done. 

Rhody had never so far followed the fluctua- 
tions of fashion as to give up her Madras turban 
and blue cotton working costume. She was a 
typical specimen of her class. She had been born 
and bred on a Southern plantation where kindness 
to all was the rule, and where natural affections 
were respected in black as well as in white. 

Daniel had been owned by a neighboring planter, 
who held the view that a slave was incapable of 
feelings and attachments that are counted worthy 
in their owners, and had no right to them. 

In the home of Rhody’s master, and of her own 
age, grew his lovely daughter, Grace. These 
children, of different races and such widely diverg- 
ent conditions, were nevertheless devoted com- 
panions and playmates during their childhood. 
Grace had by nature a tender, loving heart, a fine 
sense of justice, and an independence of thought 
that marked her as one who would develop into a 
noble woman. Rhody, too, had possibilities, giving 
promise of remarkable physical endurance, aptitude 
for work, with intuitions that enabled her to judge 
character, and a spirit of unswerving fidelity to 
those whom she loved. 


MAGNOLIA BLOOM AND WINTER SKIES. 21 


When it came time for Miss Grace to leave 
home for school, the separation did not weaken 
their attachment for each other. Later on, when 
Miss Grace became engaged to be married, and 
confided this most cherished secret of her heart to 
the faithful Rhody, she in turn told of how she 
and Daniel had promised each other to work 
together as long as they both should live, Rhody 
saying : ‘‘ Me an' Dan’l b'lieve the Lord made 

him fur me an' me fur him, 'cause when we's apart, 
we's that lonesome an' oneasylike we don't know 
what to do, an' when we's together we both seems 
to be whar we ought ter be, an' kinder settled 
like." 

When Miss Grace and her young lover started 
out for their late afternoon horseback rides, and 
Daniel and Rhody stood by the stile listening to 
the whip-poor-will's complaint, or the tootings of 
the complacent owl, it may be that He who knows 
the heart, and whose thoughts are not as man's 
thoughts, saw as pure emotions and as true throb- 
bings of love under the thick dark skin as under 
the fairer and more delicate. 

Miss Grace came home from her ride one even- 
ing with more of a shade of care on her winsome 
face than had ever before found its way there. 
True, she had heard some talk, and read something 
in the papers of trouble in the political world. 
Her father had spoken gravely of affairs at Wash- 


22 MAGNOLIA BLOOM AND WINTER SKIES. 

ington, where Lincoln was then in his first term 
of service as the Chief Executive of the land. 
But what had she to do with such questions ? 
They were for men. Her life was in her home, 
her little world of society, and now that she was 
the one chosen and beloved by the chivalrous young 
fellow who was her ideal of young manhood, how 
could the affairs of nations disturb her ? 

But she had learned from the lips of her lover 
during their ride, that the men of the country 
were being called to prepare themselves to settle 
at the cannon’s mouth the questions that had long 
been harrassing the Government. He didn’t know 
what might happen ; some believed that the slaves 
were to be set free ; the air was full of rumors, and 
the excitement was intense. 

Would /le go ? 

He could not say ; he must do his part as a 
man to defend the homes of his people, and the 
cause in which he believed. 

Under the heavy hanging moss, and long after 
the shadows of moonlight had taken the place of 
the sunset tintings, the two who, until now, had 
thought little of the bonds that held them as chat- 
tels to their owners, continued their talk ; the last 
word seemed not easy to speak. 

‘‘Hits got to be, Rhody; this yere nigger’ll 
never be sold ! Thar’s the word with the bark 
on’t ! While I’se these two legs I kin outrun any 


MAGNOLIA BLOOM AND WINTER SKIES. 2 $ 

feller in these parts, an' if he kin git up sooner 
in the mornin' 'an I kin, then his evenin' befo’ll 
be mighty shawt." 

‘‘But, Dan’l, thar's me!" 

Putting his mouth close to her ear, he whis- 
pered : “Thar’s a God in heaven, Rhody, an' 
He’ll Stan' by you an’ me 'till we gits it fixed 
right DanTll find ye, if it takes him as long as 
it did the chillen of Israel to fin' the promus 
Ian'. Doan you git skeer'd at nuthin’ — nuthin', I 
say. When I heerd ole Mars a tellin' that he'd 
sell us all, 'fo it wus too late, and freedom wus 
come, I riz up t’ll I wus about ten foot high, I did, 
an’ I sez to myself, sez I, ‘Never! while there's 
a breath in this yere body ; an' I guess the dead 
wouldn’t fetch much.’ " 

A few weeks later found Daniel out of the pale 
of slavedom, and after hidings, hunger and perils, 
he was finally domiciled in the home of Mrs. 
Strong’s father. 

Before the fulfillment of Lincoln's prophecy, 
“when the mystic chords of memory, stretching 
from every battle-field and patriot grave, to every 
loved heart and hearth-stone of our broad land, 
touched by the better angels of our nature, swelled 
again the chorus of the Union," Rhody and 
Daniel were of those whom God hath joined to- 
gether, at least, for this life. It had not taken 
them forty years, but their waiting for each other 


24 MAGNOLIA BLOOM AND WINTER SKIES. 

had been almost as long as that of Jacob for his 
Rachel. 

Of the trouble and distress of those years, 
Rhody and Daniel seldom spoke as time brought 
lines to their brows and increasing mellowness to 
their hearts. They knew that his ‘‘ole Mars'' 
turned his slaves into money before the Emanci- 
pation Proclamation made it impossible, and Daniel 
chuckled, as he said, “ Guess if he'd a cotch this 
nigger that mornin', as he wus hidin' out'n the 
moonshine in the shadder uv the Magnolys, he’d a 
made it hot weather fur him.” 

As Daniel now sat looking at Rhody while she 
shaped the dough, some into dainty spheres, some 
into squares or oblongs, and placed them in baking 
pans, and these in the oven, a smile slowly over- 
spread his usually serious face. 

Let us be careful to note that the process was a 
gradual one. Dark as was his complexion, it was 
nevertheless possible for a perceptible illumination 
to take place, given sufficient time, and after 
certain slight vibrations of first one of the muscles 
of the mouth and then another, a gradual parting 
of the lips, showing the enviable ivories with which 
his race is blessed, a grouping of the many wrinkles 
around his eyes, which were not lacking in white, 
you came to the realization that an honest, cordial 
smile was the phenomenon presented in his en- 
livened features. And unlike some of nature’s 


MAGNOLIA BLOOM AND WINTER SKIES. 25 

phenomena> this developed so deliberately, re- 
mained so satisfactorily long, and disappeared so 
reluctantly, as to afford ample scope for its inves- 
tigation and analysis. 

Broadening the smile, Daniel said, with most 
genuine warmth, Rhody, Tse as proud uv ye as 
when I fust went a courtin’ ye ; an’ ye kin beat 
the world at cookin’ ; an’ I don’t mean to git 
skeered while we’s got one another! ” 

Rebekah Snow, who had hastened in at Daniel’s 
summons, was a kind-hearted woman, with a dom- 
inating conviction that if a thing was right, that 
was the only consideration. She belonged to the 
Society of Friends, had quick intuitions, and a 
ready ability to meet emergencies. 

‘‘ What ails thee, dear ? ” was her greeting, as, 
seating herself near, she took Margaret’s cold 
hands between her own. 

The answer was a sad attempt to smile; and 
Mrs. Snow proceeded : ‘‘ I have seen for some 
time that thee was not doing right — pardon me, 
dear, I don’t mean just that. But thee cannot do 
without sunshine, and these pale little hands tell 
me thee is not eating enough.” 

The sympathetic tones and unmistakable kind- 
ness of Rebekah Snow were what Margaret needed 
to bring relief to her pent-up sorrow, and the good 
old lady did not try to check tl^ tears that came 
so freely, almost convulsively, for awhile. 


26 MAGNOLIA BLOOM AND WINTER SKIES. 

Stroking Margaret’s forehead gently, Friend 
Snow said : ‘‘ I want to help thee, and thee must 
trust me a little, and let thyself be taken care of, 
so thee can get well again. But just now I’ll do 
most of the talking, and thee will rest.” 

‘‘You will believe that I appreciate your kind- 
ness, Mrs. Snow ; but how can a broken heart 
live, or pretend to be interested in trying to 
live.?” 

She laid her head back on her easy chair and 
closed her eyes, as if she would shut herself away 
from the present, the future — even from existence.'x. 

Very softly then, and without any comment, 
Mrs. Snow repeated the words of Him who spoke 
as man never spake : 

“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; he 
hath sent me to bind up the broken-hearted. 

“The Comforter, even the Holy Spirit, whom 
the Father will send in my name, he shall teach 
you all things, and bring to your remembrance all 
that I said unto you. 

“ Peace I leave with you ; my peace I give unto 
you ; let not your heart be troubled, neither let it 
be afraid.” 

Rhody served the meal, Mrs. Snow sharing it 
with Margaret and Amy. 

The lights in the library, and the one in the 
comfortable room where Daniel and Rhody had 
spent their married life, burned late that night. 


MAGNOLIA BLOOM AND WINTER SKIES. 2/ 

after Rhody's successful effort to prove to ‘‘ Miss 
Marg’et/' by old Virginny beat biscuits, that she 
needed food. 

To Mrs. Snow Margaret had confided her sor- 
rows, and Uncle Pierre’s letter had been read, and 
his course execrated by that acute discriminator 
of conduct and character. As was usual with her, 
she had taken in the situation at once, and had al- 
ready begun to plan for meeting what had to be 
faced. 

Margaret insisted that Amy should be spared 
any knowledge of their trouble until the next day, 
saying, ‘‘Let the child have one more night of 
the peaceful sleep of happy girlhood. To-morrow 
she will feel the grinding cares of a wretched 
maturity.” 

Rhody and Daniel were fully trusted, and much 
of the import of Uncle Pierre’s letter was now well 
known to them. 

“ I’se saved up a little, Rhody, an’ long as these 
chille’n uv Mars Strong’s lives, they’ll hev a part 
uv all Dan’l’s got.” 

“ You’se right thar, Dan’l ; but it’s like throwin’ 
a pint uv water inter the ragin’ ocean t’ d’vide our 
little savin’s ’ith ’em. It’s too much fur this old 
head tu think it out. But the Lord kin under- 
stan’ it. I’se made up my mind tu go right at the 
fust thing to be done, an’ git that out’n the way ; 
en’ don’t yer see, then thar’ll never be nuthin’ so 


28 MAGNOLIA BLOOM AND WINTER SKIES. 

hard it can’t be done, ’cause anybody kin alius do 
one thing.” 

Margaret took up the cares that had so lately 
come into her life with a more rational interest, 
after her interview with Rebekah Snow, and she 
seemed to be trying to overcome the feeling that 
made her averse to any society. Her sense of 
propriety caused regret at thought of her man- 
ner and words during Mr. Blanding’s late call. 
The memory of what she termed lack of self-con- 
trol led her to excuse herself when he called again, 
and Mr. Blanding counted it the best event of the 
day when he was freed from an interview for which 
he knew himself to be unprepared, but toward 
which his restless conscience had impelled him 
ever since the time when his words had so stirred 
the rebellion in Margaret’s heart. 

As he turned homeward, his thoughts took a 
form that was coming to be a habit with him ; he 
yielded to mental questionings : What can I do 
to overcome this foolish unrest ? Why can’t I be 
at peace Surely I want to do the right, but I 
feel so empty-hearted, and so at sea. Now Kings- 
]y seems to have got at the root of things as I 
have not, and his influence is altogether different 
from mine. Perhaps I ought never to have been 
a preacher; my preaching doesn’t seem to develop 
Christians. Crowds come to hear me, but I am 
afraid I don’t do them much good. It is so hard 


MAGNOLIA BLOOM AND WINTER SKIES. 29 

to know what to do. But what is the use of mak- 
ing myself miserable over what I can’t help.^” 

In this mood he entered his study, and was soon 
absorbed in preparation for the services of the en- 
suing Sabbath, which was to be an occasion of 
special interest. 


CHAPTER III. 


THE REV. J. AUGUSTUS BLANDING. 


“ Great men do not play stage tricks with the doctrines of life 
and death.” — Ruskin. 

I T WAS Easter Sunday. As well attempt to 
adequately picture a flower garden in June as 
to give any true idea of the gorgeous floral display 
in Mr. Blanding’s church on that morning. Af- 
ter selections from Handel’s Messiah had been 
“divinely rendered ” by the choir, a sermon by the 
pastor followed, in harmonious style. 

True, his text was from the Bible, and once dur- 
ing his twenty-flve minutes’ discourse he made a 
direct quotation from Holy Scripture. But it did 
not require a close observation to see with what 
special fervor he quoted such sentences as the 
following : 

“The mind of man may be compared to a musi- 
cal instrument with a certain range of notes, 
beyond which, in both directions, we have an 
infinitude of silence. The performance of every 
function is in a sense a moral obligation. It is 

30 


THE REV. J. AUGUSTUS BLANDING. 


31 


usually thought that morality requires us only to 
restrain such vital activities as in our present state 
are often pushed to excess, or such as conflict with 
average welfare, special or general; but it also 
requires us to carry on these vital activities up to 
their normal limits.’’ 

Or this passage : 

I know not why the universe exists, but I do 
not desist from seeing how it is modified. I do 
not cease to see the intimate agreement by which 
the beings that compose it render a mutual help. 
I am like a man who sees for the first time an 
open watch, who should not cease to admire the 
workmanship of it, although he knows not the use 
of the machine, and had never seen dials. I do 
not know, he would say, what all this is for, but I 
see that each piece is made for the others ; I ad- 
mire the worker in the detail of his work, and I 
am very sure that all these wheel-works only go 
thus in concert for a common end, which I cannot 
perceive.” 

As a necessary part of the preparation for his 
pulpit performance that morning, Mr. Blanding had 
stood awhile before his full-length mirror, which 
told him the conditions were excellent. His nat- 
urally imposing physique gave scope for good 
effects in elegant cashmere. 

Mr. Blanding’s somewhat florid and usually-con- 
sidered handsome face was well set off by lux- 


32 THE REV. J. AUGUSTUS BRANDING. 

uriant light-brown hair of the wavy sort. His 
blue eyes, a trifle too light for the highest beauty, 
had nevertheless the power of expressing emotions 
which one would scarcely expect, if his silky beard 
had permitted a careful study of the lines of his 
mouth. 

From his father, Mr. Blanding had stood a good 
chance of inheriting a self-indulgent disposition, a 
skeptical turn of mind, with a tendency to narrow 
and prejudiced views of things. 

His mother was ambitious, and not lacking in 
will-power. She was regarded as striking in 
person, and possessed in a degree what is known 
as dramatic talent. She meant to be religious, 
finding in certain doctrines and services of the 
church some things that appealed to her esthetic 
tastes. Her long-cherished desire to become a 
professional actress was about to be realized, when 
it was delayed by the advent of her only child. 
Later, an accident to herself made it impossible 
for her ever to appear on the public stage. Then 
her ambition became centered in her boy. A 
prominent feature in his education was the study 
of dramatic literature, and the mother s hopes were 
stimulated when he came to be sought as a per- 
former in private theatricals that had in them the 
recommendation of serving some religious or 
charitable cause. 

So it came to pass that when the time arrived 


THE REV. J. AUGUSTUS BLANDING. 


33 


for him to choose his life career, there seemed 
just two ways open to him. His good voice and 
attractive person must be taken into the account, 
and he hardly knew, himself, how it was that he 
chose the pulpit instead of the stage. With her 
ample fortune Mrs. Blanding had endowed the 
pulpit of the church of which, quite naturally, in 
the course of events, her son, the Rev. J. Augustus, 
became pastor, and so, like many another, '‘he 
learned to make his destiny his choice.” His wife, 
who was of his mother's own choosing, was 
thought by many to be the helpmeet for him. 
She was founder of the Literary Society in the 
church, soul of the dramatic study, and a vital 
force in the Scientific Club. 

It cannot be denied that there was a drawing 
power somewhere, for pews and sittings were 
in constant demand. As to the choir and the 
organist, the only question was that of professional 
excellence. That preludes, voluntaries and inter- 
ludes were often of a character to lead the thoughts 
and feelings anywhere but to the worship of 
God in the Spirit of wholeness, was not con- 
sidered, so long as the crowd came and expressed 
satisfaction. 

Might not some come to hear Browning or 
Shakespeare, and some day get a hint that they 
might look a little into the Bible ? Might not the 
hearing of fine music lead some hungry soul to 


34 the rev. J. AUGUSTUS BRANDING. 

sing, “What shall the harvest be.? ” Did not the 
fact that it was so much more easy to get a 
hundred out to a church tea, or to a baggery, than 
to get a score to the weekly Bible study, prove 
that love of fun is natural and necessary, and that 
people must have it.? True, a few of the more 
thoughtful among the young people, as well as of 
the older members, felt at times that there was 
some mistake, and questioned whether, after all, 
this is just what the church is for. 

On leaving the dinner table that Easter Sunday, 
Mr. Blanding and Mr. Stockton — the latter a 
favorite parishioner who had accompanied him 
home — went into the study. It was more lux- 
urious in its appointments than is usual in a 
work-room, but offered excellent opportunity for 
after-dinner ease. Seated in chairs that made 
sleep the most natural consequence, with smoking- 
stand and the choicest Havanas to tempt, there 
seemed no obstacle to the waiting of good diges- 
tion on appetites that had been pampered with the 
choicest viands. There was a noticeable hesitancy 
on the part of Mr. Stockton, as he accepted Mr. 
Blanding’s invitation to help himself to a cigar. 

“ What is the matter, Mr. Stockton .? I thought 
you liked a good cigar, and these are of the best, 
I assure you — no better to be had.'’ 

“ Like them .? That’s the trouble. I am coming 
to like them altogether too well ; so well that I 


THE REV. J. AUGUSTUS BLANDING. 35 

find it almost impossible not to smoke, if I am 
where I can.'* 

^‘Well, why not.? You have no other habit 
that you can call bad, and some physicians main- 
tain that smoking aids digestion, and helps the 
health in many ways, and I am free to confess I 
like to believe they are right." 

I have settled that long ago, and when I 
smoke, I do so just for the luxury of it at the 
time ; I know it is bad, and only bad. I don’t 
believe it ever helped any one, and the harm it 
does can never be told in this world. I do not 
want to spoil your pleasure now, nor mine; but, 
Mr. Blanding, there’s no denying that it weakens 
character.’’ 

Pshaw ! you’re just trying to make a case.’’ 

No, I’ve watched it ; and it tends to deaden the 
moral sensibilities — tends, I say, though unfor- 
tunately for my side of the question, there seem to 
be so many exceptions as to hinder the real force 
of the rule.’’ 

‘^What’s a man to do after dinner, if he doesn’t 
smoke .? He must not go to work ; his wife wants 
to rest, and it puts him into a sort of seventh 
heaven to sit and watch the curling of the blue 
fleece, and dream as his fancy leads him.’’ 

‘‘ I know the bliss, but there is sure to come, 
sooner or later, a painful awakening of the 
smoker’s dreams.’’ 


36 THE REV. J. AUGUSTUS BLANDING. 

^‘Then I say, let us have them while we can.*’ 
But the cost is too great.'' 

‘^You are not yourself to-day, Mr. Stockton. 
Here, take another cigar and get your nerves 
settled. You've been over- working ! I believe 
you merchants have a harder time of it than we 
preachers." 

‘H'm coming to think an easy time is not what 
any of us should live for. To tell the truth, Mr. 
Blanding, something is wrong. I am not in fel- 
lowship, to use a cant phrase, with some things 
that are having sway in these times. Some things 
in the church do not seem to me just what is 
needed to develop Christian life and character. I 
feel sort of soul-hungry." 

^‘Why, you always hear a sermon or two on 
Sundays, and the music and prayers are surely edi- 
fying to the soul." 

will be plain with you, Mr. Blanding; you 
know I think you are one of the best fellows in 
the world, but I go away from church often more 
hungry th^n when I enter. I am not indifferent 
to the power of good music, but when I want that, 
I can get it at the concert or opera. I don't 
count myself pious, but I have a notion that the 
church ought to help its members to get better 
acquainted with God, and to live right before Him, 
and to help others to know Him and to serve 
Him." 


THE REV. J. AUGUSTUS BLANDING. 3/ 

^‘That is just it, and don’t you see we must 
have fine music to get the people to come where 
we may help them ? ” 

‘‘ I am not sure about that. Men want some- 
thing that will satisfy. The world has nothing for 
the better part of a man’s nature ; the soul’s por- 
tion is found in God alone, and it seems to me 
that preaching and all public worship ought to be 
such as to bring those under its influence nearer 
to God.” 

‘‘ Surely you believe that God loves the beauti- 
ful, and that the most scholarly preaching and the 
most skilled music are not too good for His 
house ? ” 

‘‘Of course not too good, Mr. Blanding, but my 
point is that such things are not the best means 
of leading to the worship of God, or to meet the 
wants of distracted souls. Who ever heard of a 
sinner’s being brought to peace with God through 
the influence of an organ voluntary, however grand, 
or a soulless effort of song, however skilled ; or a 
lecture, even from the pulpit, if from its teaching 
one could not tell whether Confucius or Christ 
were the inspiration of it ” 

Very gracefully Mr. Blanding removed the ashes 
from his cigar, and changed his posture to one 
that placed him a little less directly facing his 
friend ; for candor compels the confession that he 
winced under the steady gaze and outspoken words, 


38 THE REV. J. AUGUSTUS BLANDING. 

beg your pardon, Mr. Blanding, if I have 
seemed abrupt or over-critical ; but for a good 
while I have been feeling that you yourself were 
not quite satisfied with the way the church and the 
world are coming into fellowship.'' 

‘^We have to take things as they are, and make 
the best of them. Haven’t we Scripture for 
letting the wheat and the tares grow together, 
and for making friends of the mammon of 
unrighteousness ? " 

‘‘That sounds like Scripture, but it hardly meets 
the case, I think. It may be old-fashioned, per- 
haps, but I think it a good fashion for Christians 
to be what the Bible calls ‘ a separate people ' ; too 
much engrossed with Christian duties and too 
much endued with the Holy Spirit to care for the 
harmful temptations that the world offers. It 
seems to me that we want more shepherds, and 
fewer priests ; more true servers, and fewer blind 
mouths. You will say my theory far transcends 
my practice, and in that I shall heartily agree with 
you.” 

“My dear Stockton, I wish I could help you 
out of your difficulty ; and I will own that there are 
times when I feel there is something in religion, a 
vitality in Christianity, that is unknown to me. 
When I stand over the dead, and know that hearts 
are torn by separations which this world cannot 
reunite, I am dumb.” 


THE REV. J. AUGUSTUS BLANDING. 39 

Mr. Blanding laid down his cigar, and continued : 

It was my duty to comfort one of my parishion- 
ers the other day. A young woman of splendid 
mind — Miss Strong — who you know has lost her 
mother, whom she fairly adored. Well, let me 
tell you, Stockton, the very best things I could 
say to her only had the effect to put her almost 
into a frenzy.'' 

‘‘That's just the point, Mr. Blanding; Chris- 
tians ought to keep so near to God, be so open to 
His influence, that He would give them what to 
say under any circumstances. I have learned 
somewhere — perhaps it was from my mother — 
that the Holy Spirit will give utterance to those 
who are under His influence." 

“Well, I have about made up my mind that I 
must have an assistant, who can relieve me of try- 
ing to comfort people that are in sorrow ; I cannot 
do it, and I cannot endure such scenes as that I 
have referred to, with Miss Strong. She knew as 
well as I did that I didn't know what I was talk- 
ing about. But come, let us join the ladies ; we 
will talk further of this another time." 

“ Excuse me to the ladies, please," Mr. Stock- 
ton replied ; “ I am not the best company for any 
one to-day, and should regret inflicting myself on 
them as I have on you," and the two separated, 
each with an undercurrent of unrest, which to Mr. 
Blanding, at least, was not clearly defined. 


40 THE REV. J. AUGUSTUS BLANDING. 

Hungry-hearted, soul-beclouded by doubts, Mar- 
garet Strong had made one of Mr. Blariding’s 
congregation on that Sabbath morning. In her 
happy days, as she now termed that part of her life 
when her mother was with her visibly, she had 
listened without much questioning to such sermons 
and music. Her youthful buoyancy and satisfac- 
tory material surroundings had seemed sufficient. 
Now, the emptiness of all these was being shown 
to her. The fountain from which she had been 
drawing suddenly ceased to refresh her. The 
light of her life was become dim. 

On her ears to-day, the glad outbursts of the 
Easter anthems fell as tones of mockery and hope- 
less gloom. Her pale face, set features and weary 
eyes, told of the struggle it cost her to endure 
that part of the service. 

Her sensitive nerves had a slight respite in the 
moment of silence before the sermon began. 
But the words of Scripture were without spirit to 
her. Their influence did not penetrate beyond 
the mere physical hearing. 

As the preacher went on, she felt herself be- 
coming mentally mystified. Only now and then 
was there a sentence clear to her perception and 
understanding, and the time of the service seemed 
distressfully long. 

The closing music, which told of triumph over 
all evil, and of the glorious resurrection of Him 


THE REV. J. AUGUSTUS BLANDING. 


41 


who abolished death and brought life and immor- 
tality to light, found no response in her heart. 
The benediction over, she left the church with 
eager steps, as one glad of any change, yet expect- 
ing nothing in what was to come. 

Mr. Blanding had observed Margaret in her 
pew, and as he did so, a momentary feeling of in- 
sufficiency came over him. He became conscious 
of a lack of something in his sermon for which he 
knew she was in need, but he regained his poise 
without betraying his disturbance. 

Out in the open air, Margaret felt a sense of 
relief, and a gradual relaxing of the severe tension. 
But pleasant greetings between friends, cheerful 
laughter, the light trippings of young men and 
maidens . going their various ways, the sight and 
perfume of flowers, the lingering tones of the 
organ that seemed reluctant to cease its notes of 
praise for a risen Lord ; all these only served to 
make her shrink more and more within the narrow 
limits of herself. 

She walked briskly, with a purpose to put space 
speedily between herself and the moving throng 
for whom she now felt so little fellowship. She 
turned out of the direct way homeward, with an 
instinct to be free from the bounds of material 
walls, and of prolonging the time of exemption 
from the necessity of exchanging thoughts with 
any one. 


42 


THE REV. J. AUGUSTUS BLANDING. 


The bright sky failed to lift her gaze toward it. 
Her eyes were cast down, and seemed to peer into 
vacancy. “I wanted bread,'' she said to herself, 
‘‘and a stone has been offered me ! I was hungry, 
O, so hungry ; and now I am famished ! O, 
Mother, Mother ! Why should we have been 
given to each other only to be rended by this 
separation ? For an instant a silence came into 
her heart, and in some way came to her the sug- 
gestion : “ Look to God " ; and as if in faint 
echoes, “ Come unto Me ; learn of Me, and 
find rest unto your soul." She would not welcome 
the pleadings, but by her louder murmurings, 
stifled them. 

“I cannot pray,'' she said; “my words fall 
lifeless. I cannot look into God's word ; it only 
meets me as a stern rebuke. O, if I could only 
die ! How kind and good God is to others ! " 
and her thoughts went out to some of her friends 
who seemed to have no sorrow. 

Then, looking in upon herself, if she had rightly 
formulated the attitude of her mind and heart 
toward God, it would have been, “ Give what I 
desire, keep me from trial, and I will call Thee 
just and good !" 

Life-currents, spiritually and physically, are 
checked in their normal flow by our following, 
unconsciously it may be, the promptings of selfish- 
ness. It is not strange that after yielding to such 


THE REV. J. AUGUSTUS BRANDING. 43 

thoughts, there should have come to Margaret 
such a benumbing of mental faculties as to render 
further thinking, for the time, a burden. 

Her course at this time illustrates one side of a 
fact as sad as it is common, and which comes 
under the head of “ the tyranny of affection.” 
The selfish element, even in the best earthly 
love, is not easily discovered and is too often 
dominating. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE BOARDING HOME. 

“ One adequate support 
For the calamities of mortal life 
Exists — one only; an assured belief 
That the procession of our fate, however 
Sad or disturbed, is ordered by a Being 
Whose everlasting purposes embrace 
All accidents, converting them to good.” 


— Wordsworth. 



HERE were lines as of years of making on 


-A. the brow of Margaret Strong when the last 
act was accomplished whereby the home so lately 
hers passed into the possession of a stranger. 

So much of her own life and that of her mother, 
had entered into its making and occupancy, that 
to dismantle and scatter all the belongings was 
like the severing of bone and marrow. 

There is a certain degree of truth in Carlyle's 
words : It is calumny on men to say that they 
are roused to heroic action by ease, hope of pleas- 
ure, recompense — sugar plums of any kind, in 
this world or the next. Difficulty, abnegation, 
martyrdom, death, are the allurements that act on 
the heart of man." 


44 


THE BOARDING HOME. 


45 


Margaret’s broad nature and reverential love for 
her home caused her to invest all that was con- 
nected with the almost tragic sorrow of the break- 
ing up, with a feeling of sacredness. But after 
accepting the inevitable, she had risen to the 
possibility of handing the home over to the new 
owner gracefully and submissively. 

One of her crowning hardships at this time was 
to know that, rapidly as possible, the home was to 
be changed so as to leave few, if any, of its old 
characteristics ; that gaudy decorations and fur- 
nishings were to supersede its quiet elegance, and 
so meet the taste of its new owner. So true is it 
that : One’s successors never have the same fan- 

cies as himself. One generation plants trees to 
give shelter and the next cuts them down to let 
in air and sunshine.” 

There came a morning when she sat alone on 
her one remaining trunk, in what had, until then, 
been her own room — her trunk and herself the 
only objects. The otherwise empty house gave 
back lonesome echoes, as Daniel and Rhody, with 
ill-suppressed sobs had passed out, after saying 
good-by to the home that had been as a city of ref- 
uge to them. 

Daniel had lingered over locking and strapping 
Margaret’s trunk, with an indefinable dread of 
having nothing further to do for her, and his dis- 
charge of the last duty under the old roof was 


46 


THE BOARDING HOME. 


now of the past. The last strap was carefully 
fastened in its waiting buckle, the trunk key hand- 
ed to its owner, the final word spoken, and Daniel 
had grasped Rhody's hand as a child its mother’s, 
and the two had gone forth to new scenes. 

Hearts never break while hands can be busy 
with loving service. While there is still some- 
thing that must be done, despair never gets pos- 
session. It is when the dismal, hopeless lull 
comes ; when the last thing, the very last for that 
occasion is done, it is then the heart turns in upon 
itself, and the silver cord is loosed. The days had 
been so full of thought and work that feeling had 
been held in bonds. This morning, when work 
was over for the time, the heart renewed its clamor. 

In the sad stillness, Margaret’s thoughts became 
tinged with vagueness, and for the moment her 
trunk seemed the vital object, and herself the 
soulless, material one. She had spoken bravely 
and hopefully to Rhody and Daniel, but now that 
she was alone, the echoes of her voice sounded in 
her ears with questioning intonations. 

She had gone into every room, and had taken 
leave of the only home she had ever known, with 
a sorrow that can only be understood by those 
who have passed through a similar experience. 

For her Uncle Pierre, who was the immediate 
cause of the disaster, she had nothing but pity. 
Down deep in her heart, because of her true 


THE BOARDING HOME. 


47 


insight in judging character, she believed that the 
greater blame rested with him who had led her 
uncle into a false and dangerous way. 

Her watch told her that in ten minutes more 
she would hand over the keys to the incoming 
owner, and the waiting vehicle would convey her- 
self and her trunk to the boarding place which was 
to be a shelter while she undertook to meet the 
unsolved problem of supporting herself. 

It had not happened — it was Margaret's plan 
— that she should be the last to leave the old 
home. The utter emptiness of the house was so 
in accord with her own heart that there was a fas- 
cination in it for her. 

Her companionship with Friend Rebekah Snow, 
since the morning of the fatal letter, was begin- 
ning to touch her heart with an occasional impulse 
of her old faith and trust in God. 

To the credit of the world’s friendship, let it be 
told here that several of those who had been 
friends of the Strong family in their happier days, 
called to see Margaret and Amy after their 
misfortune became known, but the society in 
which Margaret had felt herself easily ahead of all 
rivals, found it quite a natural thing to count its 
ranks complete, even while the gap left by her 
absence was still fresh. 

The young man to whom Amy had been en- 
gaged since their school-days, proved his magna- 


48 


THE BOARDING HOME. 


nimity by freely and voluntarily releasing her 
from her engagement. 

It was very awkward/’ so he wrote her ; but of 
course she would see the fitness of their allowing 
one another to be free, under the changed condi- 
tions. Father wants me to go abroad for some 
years of travel and study, and then, you know, our 
family would realize that you would be embarrassed 
to be thrown with them, as matters have turned 
out. 

I hope you will be happy, and find your new 
way of life congenial, after you become accustomed 
to it. I guess about the only thing one can’t get 
used to is suicide. To tell the truth. Miss Amy 
(I feel that I must say ^ Miss’ now), I at first 
thought I’d try getting used to that myself, when 
I heard what your uncle had done. 

It was too bad he wasn’t more of a man and 
able to think for himself. Catch me taking a 
medicine I don’t believe in, or doing anything I 
don’t want to, just because some one tells me to! 

A young man like myself has so much to live 
for, and we were only little more than children, 
mother says, and didn’t know what we were doing 
when we promised to love each other always. 

‘‘ Dear me I How strange it all seems ! I 
never could have managed through by myself, but 
mother and father are planning everything, and I 
hope my trip abroad will make me feel natural 


THE BOARDING HOME. 


49 


once more. Please return the ring as I have 
directed, and accept yours enclosed.’' 

And he tried to forget his love in the incident 
of travel. 

As Margaret sat there on her trunk, with one of 
her well-gloved hands resting in the other, and the 
toe of her right foot protruding a little restlessly 
from under her gracefully falling skirts, it was 
easy to notice that she was not at peace, and yet 
not wholly miserable. Her fine constitution meant 
power and ability to do and endure, and time had 
brought a trace of its inevitable balm. 

Her abundant light-brown hair was twisted in a 
simple coil, low on her admirably-formed head, 
and soft waves of it rested about her not high fore- 
head. The face was essentially womanly; ears 
delicate, and of a most graceful turn ; large, dark 
eyes ; mouth in which sweetness and force were 
in full harmony. A natural instinct in dress 
placed her always at advantage. Her wrap had 
slipped from her shoulders, revealing a form in 
keeping with the face and head. 

She rose at the sound of footsteps on the piazza, 
and her bearing, queenly and graceful, completed 
the picture of this royal embodiment with which 
nature had delighted herself. Without a look 
backward, Margaret went out, her face turned now 
toward a new order of life. 

‘‘Now, Amy dear, we’ve no more time for tears. 


so 


THE BOARDING HOME. 


Come, let us arrange things, and set our house in 
order at once/’ And Margaret kissed the young 
face and gently drew her sister from the lounge, 
where she had thrown herself after the first tea in 
the boarding home. Sister Margaret understands 
it all. Rob is only like many others. It is very, 
very sad, and hard to bear, but we are going to be 
brave girls and help each other. We are not the 
sort to sit down and starve for the want of trying 
to help it ; not we, my dear little sister.” 

There, I think we’ve made the best of things ; ” 
and Margaret surveyed the room with approval, 
after the two sisters had spent some time in 
arranging a few of their own special treasures, 
which they had retained as too sacred to be given 
up. 

Margaret had opened the dear old piano,” and 
on it placed a bit of Amy’s painting, resting on a 
quaint and richly-carved easel that had been a gift 
from uncle Pierre. In answer to her sister’s look 
of distress, she said, “We will remember him as 
he was before he was so cruelly led away from 
himself.” 

In seeking to heal others is found the only true 
healing for ourselves. Amy’s new and stinging 
sorrow called out the noble and sympathetic in 
Margaret’s nature, and tended to make her lose 
sight of herself. 

As they sat in easy chairs, with hair unbound, 


THE BOARDING HOME. 


51 


and in the luxury of home wrappers, Margaret 
said with a tone savoring of cheer, ^^Now, little 
sister, we must consider what we shall do, and 
decide upon ways and means for our future.” 

Observing the troubled look on Amy's face, she 
continued : I think you can now use your gift 

for music and painting to both pleasure and profit. 
Your talent is very good, and there is a demand 
for so much in the line of decoration with pencil 
and brush.” 

I should be delighted to resume my painting, 
sister, but I can’t see how it can be made 
profitable.” 

You don’t need to see now, dear. We’ll just 
make success.” 

‘‘Think of my making anything,” plead Amy, 
faintly. 

“Would you like to hear what I am to do ? ” 

“ O, yes, indeed ; for you can do.” 

“Well, I will tell you. It is all planned. Our 
dear Mrs. Hale proposed it ; and she knows more 
of the world, I believe, and has more good sense 
and good heart, than any other living woman.” 

“I know it is something great and good that 
she would propose and would carry out.” 

“Wait till you hear, and prepare to be terribly 
startled.” 

“I think I’d like to be startled, just now, Mar- 
garet ; anything but this heavy heartache ! ” 


52 


THE BOARDING HOME. 


I am going to be a reformer ! '' 

‘‘Of course you are; that is nothing new.'’ 

Margaret proceeded with an air of profound earn- 
estness : “ My followers will reverse the order of 
our old motto, Esse quam videri ! I am to help 
people to seem." 

Amy drew her chair nearer to that of her sister, 
and her gaze of increasing interest encouraged 
Margaret to make her story as sensational as 
possible. 

“Mine is a bold undertaking, and one for which 
I must acquire fitness as I ^proceed. 

“ I shall need to study much, both in books and 
in nature, and as the immortal Wordsworth did, 
in the greater volume of human nature. The 
most difficult part will be, I think, that I must 
keep informed of the condition of the mental pulse 
of fashionable society." 

Amy drew a little nearer and took one of Mar- 
garet’s hands in one of her own, as if she feared 
she might lose her bodily. 

“ Still I shall have one advantage ; my pupils 
will help to discover their own needs, and it will 
be my special province to try to meet them." 

Margaret’s lips were parted, and her breathing 
indicated that she was about to continue, when 
Amy interrupted: “Do please explain yourself 
immediately! You, the very essence of truth, a 
hater of all shams — you engage to teach people 


THE BOARDING HOME. 


S3 


how to pretend! What can you mean.^^'* And 
Amy leaned back in her chair, as if expecting a 
new revelation. 

‘‘To come to real earnest, Amy dear, I am go- 
ing to read to some society ladies, and converse 
with them ; to enable them to talk a little on top- 
ics of interest in the society world.’' 

“ Because you say it, sister, I believe it.” 

“ I will explain a little further. These pupils 
of mine — don’t laugh at the idea, please — these 
ladies, some of them at least, have not always 
been in fashionable life ; they have suddenly come 
into a society for which they feel themselves un- 
fitted. Is it not well to help them to feel com- 
fortable as possible in the new conditions in 
which, by the accident of fortune, they find 
themselves ? ” 

“ But how can such people give the time for this 
process of priming ? ” 

“ O, that is not difficult. While the hair- 
dresser is preparing the outside of the head for a 
suitable appearance, I am supposed to bring about 
a similar capability with the interior.” 

“Well, I am glad for the pupils, but I’m sorry 
for their teacher, in this case,” and Amy breathed 
more freely, now that she comprehended. 

“ But the teacher will have the best of it. Think 
of the knowledge the teacher will acquire in ad- 
justing the means to the end, in such a work. I 


54 


THE BOARDING HOME. 


am really enthusiastic over it ; and besides, Amy 
dear, I am so glad that this employment is offered 
me, even before I had fully taken in the fact that 
we must immediately begin to earn an income.'’ 

In answer to a gentle knock at their door, Mrs. 
Wiswell, the home maker of the establishment, 
was admitted. The attributes of generosity and 
good practical sense shone out strongly in her 
face. 

dropped in, dears,” she began, ‘‘to see if I 
could do anything for your comfort. I know you 
can’t feel at home yet awhile ; that takes time. 
But you do look cosy and settled already.” And 
she glanced about the room with evident apprecia- 
tion of the taste displayed. 

“Thank you,” came from both young voices in 
a breath. 

“We have taken possession, as you see, and 
mean to be at home,” continued Margaret, with a 
perceptible tremor in her voice at the end of the 
sentence. 

“ All of my own are in the home where no 
change can hurt,” gently rejoined Mrs. Wiswell; 
“ but there are many that call me mother, and I 
shall hope to make you feel at home here by and 
by. Come to me if you think I can help you at 
any time.” 

When she had gone, Margaret said : “Now let 
us take an inventory of our assets, and know just 


THE BOARDING HOME. 


55 


how to proceed in the new way of life. To begin 
with, our Mrs. Wiswell is of the genuine sort, and 
a treasure. You are, as Daniel so often delighted 
to say, ‘a genus in paintin' an' no mistake.' I — 
well, I have health, and can try as hard as any one. 
So, my precious little sister, we are to keep heart 
and go right ahead, and we shall win." 

O, Margaret ! if I were like you, I could get 
along ; you are so very brave." Amy looked as if 
she must have a good cry, but a cheerful little 
laugh, the first from Margaret for a good while, 
brought a lightsome smile that gave to Amy's face 
the look of an April shower through which the 
sun was trying to shine. 

For Margaret, that night brought wakeful hours. 
It needed more than her courage to prevent the 
out-look for herself and Amy from having a somber 
hue, which often, in the night hours, while Amy 
slept peacefully, hovered over Margaret's spirit 
with a forbidding gloom that banished sleep. 

Rebellion, while it is in action, tends to any- 
thing but peace. While the heart refuses to 
accept the Providences of life, and murmurs at the 
crosses to be borne, unrest makes havoc of peace, 
and soul and body are worn and cast down. By 
accepting and using with cheerful patience the 
vicissitudes of life, the soul finds true poise and 
rest. 

That Margaret, with the influence of such a 


56 


THE BOARDING HOME. 


mother, should have lapsed into an intellectual 
condition that made it possible for her to be 
thrown by her sorrow into a state of rebellion 
against Him whose love is unfailing, seems sur- 
prising. But when we remember that degeneration 
is as natural as growth, and that true growth only 
follows true use of faculties, and that Margaret 
had been occupying her mind with a sort of litera- 
ture that insidiously tended to weaken faith in 
God, we can understand her case. 


CHAPTER V. 


MRS. JEREMIAH BANKSTUN. 


“ It is a great point in a gallery how you hang your pictures ; 
and not less in society how you seat your party. The circum- 
stance of circumstance is timing and placing.” — Emerson. 

I N a country like our own, where every school- 
boy, however obscure, is taught to believe 
himself on the direct road to the presidential 
chair, and where a poor man of last year may be a 
millionaire of the next, society, even at its best, is 
conglomerate. 

There is a certain degree of pathos in the po- 
sition to which money, suddenly acquired, often 
subjects its possessors. A family establishment 
on a fashionable avenue, elegant equipages, lavish 
gifts to conspicuous charities, are often the sesame 
to circles largely made up of those who are right- 
fully denominated ‘‘the best people.'’ 

With these moneyed advantages, though much 
else may be lacking, one may “ring with confi- 
dence the visitor's bell at double-belled doors." 
But entering, he may find himself ill at ease, and 
gasping for relief from conventionalities with which 
57 


5 8 MRS. JEREMIAH BANKSTUN. 

he has never had the opportunity to make acquaint- 
ance. And this embarrassment comes with keener 
force to women than to men. 

A good-hearted, motherly woman gives her life 
to hard work until she reaches the age of forty, 
and amid narrow opportunities, when lo ! the mine 
in which her equally hard-working and uneducated 
husband invested, in a favored hour, makes him a 
man of wealth. 

Their daughters and sons have had the advan- 
tages of school education, and freedom from work 
or care, and so quite easily adapt themselves to 
the new situation. But father and mother cannot 
so readily acquire the manner native,” so essen- 
tial in good society. True, the tailor, the dress- 
maker, the jeweler, and the hair-dresser can do 
much toward fitting any for the drawing-room, in 
which the upholsterer has been allowed free scope 
to his taste. 

That was an entirely natural woman who de- 
clared that ‘‘the sense of being perfectly well- 
dressed gives a feeling of inward tranquility which 
religion is powerless to bestow.” 

Nevertheless, our newly made “gentleman” 
and “lady” soon come to feel that their limited 
number of subjects for conversation do not inter- 
est their associates, and that the topics discussed, 
and the requisitions of syntax in their new society, 
are wholly unknown to them. 


MRS. JEREMIAH BANKSTUN. 


59 


So it has come about that certain of these 
women who feel their lack in such matters, seek 
to remedy it by engaging well-informed persons 
to instruct them in the art of appearing. To such 
a field of usefulness Margaret seemed to be called 
by circumstances as well as by fitness — by her 
admirable combination of intelligence of the head 
and the heart. 

In the line of these duties, Margaret was ush- 
ered into a sumptuous suite of rooms one day, 
where awaiting her was Mrs. Jeremiah Bankstun, 
who occupied the proud position of wife to Jere- 
miah Bankstun, Esquire, a large owner in the Ne 
Plus Ultra Silver Mine. 

After her undisguised surprise at Margaret’s 
lady-like appearance, Mrs. Bankstun greeted her, 
‘‘Howdy do. Miss ; have a seat and set down.” 

Margaret’s quick perception noted the genuine 
kindness of tone in which the greeting came. 
She took the seat indicated, and waited for further 
advances from her new pupil. 

“I’m mighty glad you didn’t disappint me. Miss; 
but now you’ve come, I don’t see just how to ex- 
plain what I want of you.” 

In a reassuring way, Margaret said : “ I think 
our mutual friend, Mrs. Hale, has explained it all 
to me. You want to study some branches, I be- 
lieve, or you would like me to read and converse 
with you on some subjects of interest to you.” 


6o 


MRS. JEREMIAH BANKSTUN. 


‘‘You’ve hit it exactly, Miss, exactly. You see 
I ain’t always had time to study. I’ve raised a 
big family of children, and I’ve been kept mighty 
busy.” 

“That was what I understood from Mrs. Hale; 
and now that you have fewer cares, you want to 
devote some time to books.” 

“Well, Miss, as to cares, I think I’ve as many 
as I ever had, but they’re different, you see, as it 
were. Cares! I tell Jeremiah sometimes, I’m a 
heap more put to it for a chance to breathe, and 
have a minnit to myself, than when we lived in 
the old place.” 

“Changes are often hard to bear” ; and Marga- 
ret’s voice betrayed the feeling prompting the 
words, which came half involuntarily. 

“You’re right there. Miss, and no mistake. I 
do hope you’ll excuse my want of manners in not 
askin’ you to take off your things ; I clear forgot 
it, we was so busy talkin’. You don’t feel like a 
stranger, no ways.” 

Margaret rose and removed her hat and wrap, 
and noticing a copy of “The great fall of Niagara,” 
said, “that is a very interesting picture, Mrs. 
Bankstun.” 

“You an’ me agree there. Miss. Me and Paw” 
— meaning her husband — “likes it better than 
any other in the room. It ’pears like you can 
hear the roarin’ of the falls, when you set still and 


MRS. JEREMIAH BANKSTUN. 


6i 


look at that paintin’. But I said to Jeremiah 
when we was there, that I thought the Falls wasn’t 
nigh so pretty as the pictures made ’em.” 

It is a picture to study. We find new beau- 
ties in it as we do in the Falls themselves, as we 
continue to watch them,” replied Margaret. 

^‘That’s splendid ; it sounds just like I hear ’em 
talk at parties. That’s one thing I want you to 
learn me. Miss. We’ve got a heap of pictures, 
and I ain’t learnt much about any of ’em yet.” 

‘‘It takes time, Mrs. Bankstun, to become ac- 
quainted with paintings. We must not mind 
being a little slow in our studies, if necessary.” 

“You’re right, certin. Miss, but I ain’t young 
any more, and I feel in a hurry, like. They’ve 
such sights of pictures now, where we’re goin’ to- 
night, an’ it’s onpleasant not to know a word to 
say about any of ’em. Why, sakes ! I used to 
think they was just made to furnish with, and 
keep the places on the wall from lookin’ so bare 
like ; but they do say now that they teach us, if 
we know how to look at ’em.” 

“ Yes ; there are beautiful lessons to be learned 
from true art.” 

“You’re right. Miss; there’s my Lizzie, now — 
I’m trying to call her Elizabeth, she likes it so 
much better — well, she’s took paintin’ lessons 
this good bit, and she’s got the eye for it, so to 
speak, but she’s a shy sort of a girl and keeps her 


62 


MRS. JEREMIAH BANKSTUN. 


work out of sight, mostly ; she might let you see 
some of it, though.’' 

^‘You are very kind, Mrs. Bankstun ; perhaps 
she may.” 

One thing that bothers me more than anything 
else. Miss, is not knowin’ the real proper way to 
talk. I have some good idees, but I can’t fetch 
’em out slick an’ hansum, like ladies I meet at 
parties, you know.” 

It is a good thing to be able to express our- 
selves clearly and satisfactorily ; but after all, Mrs. 
Bankstun, ideas are more than words.” 

I s’pose so. Miss, but sometimes I see folks a 
talkin’, and it seems to me they don’t say anything 
great, but it’s so beautiful-like, and they seem so 
pleased with theirselves and so knowin’.” 

It was difficult for Margaret to suppress a smile, 
the humor in her nature almost getting the better 
of her, but she quietly replied : There may be 

great pleasure in conversation, and it is important 
to learn to talk well. If you will pardon me, I 
will say that you already possess one of the most 
desirable characteristics of a conversationist.” 

Now you don’t say. Miss. What in the world 
have I got toward talkin’ well ? ” 

kind heart, Mrs. Bankstun. Kindness is 
essential to a satisfactory conversation.” 

** Well, now, I didn’t think I’d the first blessed 
thing to start with, in learnin’ to talk proper. 


MRS. JEREMIAH BANKSTUN. 63 

We're just a gettin' acquainted, as it were ; hardly 
beginnin’ the work to-day, I take it ? " 

‘‘ I think getting acquainted is a good beginning. 
Perhaps it would be well when I come again to 
read and talk about the art of talking together." 

That's it; you hit the nail on the head every 
time. Mrs. Hale must a told you all about me, 
for you seem to ketch on to me right off. You 
couldn't tell me nothin' now that I could say this 
evenin', could you ? I break out into a dreadful 
sweat sometimes, because I can't think of nothin' 
to say. Why, would you believe it, I got the 
worst cold I most ever had, just from gittin' into 
a sweat that way last week at a party." 

It may help you, Mrs. Bankstun, to remember 
that you can please as often by listening as by 
speaking. Many persons are better pleased with 
being listened to, than by being talked to." 

D'ye think so ? Well, leastways, there's 
another trouble I have. Miss. When somebody 
speaks to me in company, you know I'm so put to 
it to know what I'll say, that I can't for the life 
of me keep my mind on what they's sayin'. Then 
what I do say 'pears like it don't fit in at all. I 
tell you I'd ruther work all day washin' and ironin', 
and set up till midnight doin' the mendin', than 
have the worry of goin' into company. But Paw 
thinks if we have tickets we must go, and I s'pose 
it's a dooty folks owes their children." 


64 


MRS. JEREMIAH BANKSTUN. 


‘^Yes; society has its claims and advantages, 
and we may so use it as to make it a blessing to 
all.’’ 

‘‘ About the blessin’ part I don’t know. It 
seems to me society is only for fashion.” 

If people associate together with a true desire 
to help and to be helped, great good must come of 
it.” ' 

‘‘Yes, yes, I ’spose so. Miss; but it ’pears to 
me, they’s mighty little thought of helpin’ others, 
in the flummery of fashionable doin’s, any how,” 
and Mrs. Bankstun sighed deeply ; while her 
fingers, so long unused to freedom from occupa- 
tion, found apparent pleasure in folding her some- 
what substantial pocket handkerchief into various 
forms ; first into small side plaitings, which her 
restless fingers carefully pressed into permanency 
for the time ; then these were pressed out in the 
same manner to make way for the more elaborate 
box plait ; the entire process seeming a matter of 
absolute unconsciousness to her, but affording to 
her motherly lap and generous hands a semblance 
of utility. 

“I s’pose when I learn more about it. I’ll see 
things different ; but I don’t git much help by 
bein’ bowed at and not gittin’ in ten foot of any- 
body. I believe in a good, hearty shake of the 
hand, even if it splits the thumb of yer glove.” 

“There is nothing equal to genuine kindness. 


MRS. JEREMIAH BANKSTUN. 6$ 

and there is too little of it, Mrs. Bankstun ; but it 
is to be found, even in what is known as fashion- 
able society.'' 

‘‘You've been a part of it yourself. Miss, and 
you know ; I'm sure you was kind wherever you 
went. I'm powerful glad you're to help me. 
Maybe I'll git used to it all some day ; but I'm 
that pestered over it now, I don't know what 
to do." 

“ Every station in life, and every phase of it has 
its peculiar trials, Mrs. Bankstun." 

“ Certing, certing. Miss. Sometimes I git out 
my old lustre dress, and my brocket shawl, and 
my lasting congress gaiters, and set down and 
look at 'em, and think how happy I was when 
they was my best, and Jeremiah and me and the 
children walked together to the old church to 
meetin,' and I wind up by thinkin' these is the 
hardest days I ever had to stand, and I'm right 
down blue for a good spell after it, I am." 

When the two separated that afternoon, it was 
with a feeling of mutual interest. Margaret's 
sense of humor, latent now for the most part 
because of the sudden strait into which her life 
was cast, had fine promise of being ministered to 
by Mrs. Bankstun's ingenuous individuality, and 
she realized that some words of encouragement 
she had spoken to her pupil fell back with a rebuke 
to her own unresigned spirit. 


CHAPTER VI. 


AT REST CASTLE. 


“We have as possibilities either balance, or elaboration, or 
degeneration.” — E. Ray Lankester. 

M ARGARET’S work was bringing her into 
acquaintance with phases of life hereto- 
fore unknown to her. As her duties took her into 
homes and under circumstances when the dis- 
guises of conventionalities were not in exercise, 
her pupils appeared to her in their true light. She 
had glimpses of home life not always of a nature 
to inspire confidence in human character, and 
many bitter and vexing experiences beset her 
path. So she counted it a blessing when the lines 
fell to her in the pleasant and pure atmosphere 
pervading the home of Mr. Vandyke and his 
daughter. 

‘‘There, father dear, I am ready now, and you 
may have the young lady shown into my room 
here.” The voice was musical and sweet, not- 
withstanding the evident effort on the part of the 
speaker to rise above the influence of pain and 
suffering. 


66 


AT REST CASTLE. 


67 


Margaret soon found herself seated by the side 
of a person so transcending in some ways any- 
thing she' had seen before, that her usually unfal- 
tering self-poise was a trifle at fault for a moment. 
She regained it, however, when Miss Vandyke 
said, It is a pleasure to see you this afternoon. 
Miss Strong, and all the more because I live in 
such a state of uncertainty.'* 

‘'You have not been well for some time, I be- 
lieve, Miss Vandyke ? " 

“ It is indeed long since I was well, but I 
have many rich compensations, and I try to keep 
them always in mind ; I already begin to add a 
new one to the long list of blessings — the pleasure 
of looking into your face once in a while. You 
will pardon the freedom I take; my friends allow 
me to be entirely unrestrained in my talk to them." 

“Surely; and I shall be delighted if I can help 
you in any way," answered Margaret, a little ill at 
ease. 

“ I am not well enough to-day. Miss Strong, to 
do more than convince you of the hard task you 
have undertaken in trying to keep me from too 
great ignorance. For a good while I was able to 
read, but now my eyes forbid that, and even the 
effort of holding a volume is too great for me." 

“ I hope we shall have pleasure in our reading 
together. I am not easily fatigued, and when I 
know your preferences, I can adapt myself to 


68 


AT REST CASTLE. 


them/’ was the answer, with returning ease of 
manner. 

‘‘My father has been a perfect joy to me. I 
don’t remember my mother; she was with the 
angels before I knew what it meant to have, or to 
miss her, but I am sure it wears on father to give 
so many hours to me. It is so very good of you. 
Miss Strong, to come. Mr. Kingsly — perhaps 
you know him — Margaret signified the contrary 
— Mr. Kingsly advises me to give up study for 
the present, and read light and entertaining books. 
I hoped he would come in to-day.” 

Here Miss Vandyke touched a bell-push near to 
her wheel-chair, and its ring was answered by a 
maid, who adjusted the cushions and helped her 
into a change of position. The effort told on the 
invalid, and she closed her eyes for a while and 
was quiet. 

As Margaret looked at her, she was reminded 
of Titian’s masterpiece. The silky black hair and 
eyelashes heightened the almost transparent white- 
ness of the skin. Every feature was fine, and 
when she opened her well-set and lustrous eyes, 
the entire expression betokened a fine organiza- 
tion. Margaret waited quietly while Miss Van- 
dyke regained composure. 

The home of Mr. Vandyke and his only child 
v/as palatial. He was widely known for his cul- 
ture and philanthropy. His intense love for his 


AT REST CASTLE. 


69 


daughter was reciprocated, and from her early girl- 
hood the two had been companions in study and 
travel, seeing almost every part of the habitable 
world together. She inherited much of her father’s 
nature, and was endowed with the requisites to 
make her a bearer of the pomp and triumph of 
life. Her home, until she became of sufficient 
age to be recognized as its mistress, had been in 
the care of a hired service, and her training, apart 
from what she received from her father, had been 
given by private tutors. In her early maidenhood 
she had entertained, as her father’s guests, hon- 
ored men and women from foreign lands, as well 
as from her own, with a dignity and winsomeness 
worthy of maturer years. 

Her conversational powers were marked by a 
graceful spontaneity and intelligence, charming to 
those who came under its influence. It was only 
when too late that her father awoke to a realiza- 
tion that the over-stimulus of too much associa- 
tion with older minds, the keeping of late hours, 
and harmful styles of dress, had sapped the current 
of her life, and that the beautiful queen of his 
household was a hopeless invalid. 

Miss Vandyke resumed her talk in a half-dreamy 
way, and Margaret drank in every word, as if it 
were some rare musical tone : ‘‘While I was rest- 
ing,” she said, “a little picture came to my mind, 
that seemed to take me from this chair and these 


70 


AT REST CASTLE. 


surroundings, into the peace and deliciousness of 
watching a sunrise in the purple of a Southern 
Italian sky. It was a bit of communion with 
Nature, through one of her crowning glories. What 
a wonder and an inspiration is a sunrise ! And to 
look upon it while the voice of the great sea breaks 
upon the ear is supreme enjoyment, providing, 
always, one has a congenial companion with whom 
to share it.'’ 

Margaret’s reply was not immediate, for Miss 
Vandyke’s thought seemed to flow on even after 
her words ceased. 

I am beginning to learn. Miss Vandyke, that 
the beauties and glories of Nature are the grandest 
allowed to us in this life.” 

‘‘Yes; and though I am too immature to have 
studied far into Nature’s secrets, I rejoice that I 
am becoming more and more in love with them. 
It has been said of one whose heart was attuned 
to Nature: ‘To his ears she brought infinite varia- 
tions of melody ; she whispered to him in the 
rustling of the forest leaves ; she sang to him in 
the rising and falling of the wind ; she shouted 
aloud in the voices of the mountain and the sea.’ 
And what has ever been invented or dreamed of 
to equal the soft eye-music of slow, wavering 
boughs ? But the best of it all is, that by the very 
beauty and grandeur of Nature we learn how 
surely God means us to be happy.” 


AT REST CASTLE. 


71 


The expression on Margaret's face at that 
moment was intensely sad. She made no spoken 
reply, and Miss Vandyke talked on, after a brief 
pause : ‘‘Yes, happy even when the very things 
upon which we felt our happiness depended, are 
gone. He has proved to me that even a young 
girl, bereft and afHicted, can find in His in- 
numerable manifestations of himself, strength and 
compensation." 

Looking earnestly into the face of her com- 
panion, she added, “I did not expect to find in 
you so mature a person. Miss Strong." 

“You were right in your judgment of me. Miss 
Vandyke. When I engaged to come to you, I 
was not what I may seem to you even to-day. 
Pardon the appearance of egotism ; I only mean 
to acknowledge a dawn of development of which I 
am becoming conscious." 

Miss Vandyke looked her interest, and Mar- 
garet continued : “ I think the inspiration of all 
connected with this very delightful interview, 
where every surrounding is so harmonious and 
elevating, has lifted me toward a better plane than 
I have been treading ; but I beg you will pardon 
such allusion to myself." 

When the interview came to a close, Margaret 
said, with her soul in her face, “ I shall leave you 
now ‘like Plato's disciple, who has perceived a new 
truth,' preserved from harm until another period." 


72 


AT REST CASTLE. 


A ripple of appreciative laughter, to which was 
added, We will let the occupation of the hours 
we spend together be determined by my physical 
state or preference at the time,” was Miss Van- 
dyke’s response. 

After Margaret had taken her leave. Miss 
Vandyke was wheeled into the library, where her 
father awaited her. 

‘‘Now, father dear, talk to me, please ; tell me 
what you are thinking about to-day ; what phase 
of the philosophy of life you are solving just now, 
and if I am too indolent to answer, you will pardon 
me, I am sure.” 

Very tenderly Mr. Vandyke kissed the forehead 
of his daughter, and seating himself near, said, 
‘* First tell me about your interview with Miss 
Strong; I think I may call her my rival.” 

“ O, father ! there never can be such a thing as 
that. No one can ever take your place with me; 
you must give me credit for a little unselfishness 
in being willing to accept a substitute occasionally.” 

“ I accept your defense, my daughter, and 
promise not to tease you any more in this way.” 

“ Well, father, I have not seen her equal in some 
particulars. The glow of perfect health is such a 
charm.” Her voice trembled a little, at thought 
of the contrast between herself and the one of 
whom she spoke. “We spent the time mostly 
this afternoon in studying each other.” 


AT REST CASTLE. 


73 


I am glad she has this dower of good health ; 
it will be something of a tonic to you to look upon 
a person of this sort.’’ 

‘‘ She has suffered deeply, I am sure; but she is 
learning to meet and brave trials.” 

Mr. Vandyke noticed the unusual pallor of his 
daughter’s face, as she pressed her hand upon her 
brow. Summoning a cheerful tone of voice, he 
said in no very earnest way : I think it must be 
looking Spring-like at Rest Castle now ; indeed, 
I heard a blue-bird two weeks ago, when I was 
there, though I fear the song was changed to 
plaintive pipings when the early Spring snow 
came.” 

‘‘How refreshing to even think of bluebirds, 
green lawns and bursting buds!” 

“ Could you bear the travel soon ? 1 have or- 

dered the house arranged for our coming, when- 
ever you want to go.” 

“Yes ; I am quite sure I could.” 

“So it was arranged that preparations be made 
for going to their summer home. After some 
moments of silence she resumed, “But, father, 
you have not told me of your studies to-day.” 

“ Surely, my dear. Well, Ijet me see ; I believe 
I was pondering last that much-debated, never-set- 
tled question as to woman’s sphere and duty.” 

“What put that into your head.^^” 

“I was looking into some of the laws of our 


74 


AT REST CASTLE. 


own and other lands, and found food for a good 
deal of thinking.'' 

Miss Vandyke raised herself as well as she 
could, and rested on one elbow, with a pathetic, 
yet determined expression on her face. There 
is no theme that so stirs me, and makes me so 
long to be well as this. You know I think it is a 
question to be settled not so much by enactment 
of laws, as by living the principles sought. The 
crowning reward of right acting is to have acted 
right. Women themselves are not aroused to 
their privilege and duty." Then, changing her 
position, she added, ‘‘The proof of ability is 
always best shown by results accomplished." 

There was a twinkle of humor in the lighting 
up of his face as he replied : “ I thought I was 

to do most of the talking, my dear; I shall have 
to assert my right of sex, and command you to be 
silent." Taking one of her hands in his, Mr. 
Vandyke noticed its feverishness. “It is time 
for tea now, and I see that you are in need of 
refreshment." 

“ I will promise to be very good, father, and not 
talk any more on this subject." And his kindly 
care caused the evening to pass restfully. 

As Margaret walked home, after her first meet- 
ing with Miss Vandyke, her conscience had a more 
patient and willing hearing than she had allowed 
it before, since the great sorrow had come into 


AT REST CASTLE. 


75 


her life. It was a tender conscience, and in the 
main, a true one, and now reasserted, it showed 
this rebellious girl to herself in such a light, that 
there came some slight approach to the true spirit 
of trusting God, even in the dark ways of His 
leading. 

Margaret’s first glimpse, that season, of the un- 
folding of Spring, outside of city surroundings, 
was when, in answer to Miss Vandyke’s summons, 
she went to Rest Castle for their study. The 
train on which she traveled passed so near the 
river on one side as to make it seem almost a jour- 
ney by water, vrhile on the other the near land 
view was both picturesque and grand in turn. 
She had begun to feel the effects of the strain 
upon her nerves, occasioned by the trying experi- 
ence of her new order of life. 

Mrs. Bankstun and Miss Vandyke were pupils 
who made her work with them compensating and 
pleasurable. The good heart of the one, and the 
rare excellence mentally and morally of the other, 
were in themselves attractions for Margaret that 
made her duties with them something to be looked 
forward to gladly. But she had other kinds with 
which to deal, and was coming to feel that her 
endurance might not be adequate. Amy, too, 
always dependent, was often found with tear- 
stained cheeks and pensive mien, which it required 
all of Margaret’s tact and earnest effort to dispel. 


76 


AT REST CASTLE. 


The Vandyke carriage met Margaret at the sta- 
tion, and the drive to Rest Castle brought back 
memories that had been so hidden by her new 
and intense experiences as to seem forever gone. 

She found her pupil awaiting her on the par- 
tially-enclosed piazza. After the greetings, and 
Margaret had divested herself of her traveling 
garments, she took a seat beside Miss Vandyke, 
where both could enjoy the rare and beautiful 
aspects of Nature. The solemn flow of the river, 
with its occasional golden gleamings through the 
not heavy wood, made a rhythmical and charming 
picture. The sun was too high to produce very 
good effects of light and shade in the landscape, 
but at that early season the clear, free rays were 
more genial and pleasing than any shading could 
be. The smooth-shaven emerald lawns seemed 
on one side to stretch away and join in close kin- 
ship the long ranges of hills in the near distance. 
Intervening pastures suggested ‘Tow of cattle 
and song of birds.” The whole scene stirred in 
Margaret a feeling that prevented speech for a 
moment. Presently she turned to her companion, 
saying, “ Really, it was almost too much for me ; 
I was not prepared for such a scene.” 

“ We think Rest Castle has all the elements for 
making the name signiflcant. Miss Strong. Father 
and I planned it, indulging our caprices in the con- 
struction of the house, believing in the real utility 


AT REST CASTLE. 


77 


of variety. Our friend Mr. Kingsly selected the 
site ; there were two or three other situations that 
we inclined to, but I think we all agree now that 
this combines more features of attractiveness than 
any other on the farm.'* 

It must seem home to you, then, in a special 
sense, since you helped so much in making it.*' 

Miss Vandyke noticed a lonesome look in Mar- 
garet's eyes. 

In a half-musing way, peculiar to her now. Miss 
Vandyke went on : ‘‘I was well then ; and O, the 
pleasure it was to play architect, and draft plans, 
and find that very often they were approved ! " 

'‘It seems to me," returned Margaret, "that 
there is much in architecture to which woman is 
well adapted." 

" I agree with you, and have thought of it a 
great deal. When women generally are better 
informed, this will be more apparent. Who could 
know so well as the 'loaf -giver,' the home-maker 
of a family, what is needed in the construction of 
the building to be used as a home ? " 

" Mother used to say," answered Margaret, her 
face lighting with increasing interest in the sub- 
ject, "that the time is coming when the noble 
destiny of women will be truly realized by women 
themselves, and then she will rise to her highest 
dignity." 

Miss Vandyke expressed pleased surprise as she 


78 


AT REST CASTLE. 


said: “Father has always talked so freely with 
me, and believes so thoroughly in the freedom that 
comes with truth, that I find I often startle my 
friends as you now do me, when I speak out some 
of my convictions.'' 

“Very probably, and I know that many would 
count it heresy to resent, as I must, Milton's esti- 
mate of women. We can accord to him the merit 
of consistency, however. It is easy to believe that 
he who would cause Eve to say to Adam, ‘ God is 
thy law — thou mine,' would say to his own daugh- 
ter, when she aspired to learning, ‘ One tongue is 
enough for a woman '." 

“ It makes cold chills creep over me to think of 
that. Miss Strong. When I spoke in this way to 
father, he said, with his peculiar twinkle of the eye, 
‘the great man made a mistake there.' We know 
that a greater than Milton has proclaimed that 
male and female, the mother sex and the father 
sex, were created in His image, and He gave them 
dominion over every living thing." 

Margaret's face glowed with earnestness that 
seemed to add years to her intelligence, as she 
said : “ It seems to me. Miss Vandyke, that the 
difficulty in this whole matter is to get women to 
see their own possibilities and real hindrances. If 
I am ever eloquent, it is when I plead for the 
emancipation of women from hurtful styles of 
dress, and for them to demand an identical stand- 


AT REST CASTLE. 


79 


ard of morals for both sexes. If the millennium 
is not here when these two ideals have come to be 
real, my faith is not well based.’’ 

If these two girls seemed to think above their 
years, it may be remembered that each had lived 
in most familiar companionship with one -of supe- 
rior attainments, morally and intellectually. Mrs. 
Strong had been to Margaret a close confidant ; 
and Mr. Vandyke, after the loss of his wife, prized 
above all other time the hours spent with his 
daughter. 

I believe,” Margaret went on, noticing that 
her companion seemed disposed to listen, rather 
than to make the exertion to speak; ^‘I believe 
that the truths God intends for our happiness and 
guidance are always easy of comprehension ; the 
trouble is, we are not willing to put into practice 
the knowledge we have. I am sure I am very 
guilty in this direction, and I confess it here for 
my own good.” 

It is delicious to lie here and listen to you ; 
go on, please.” 

“Well, where do we find even civilized women 
that are not injured by their styles of dress — 
styles too often suggesting immorality ? Chris- 
tians, who acknowledge the obligation to present 
their bodies holy, acceptable to God ; who profess 
to believe that their bodies are the temples of the 
Holy Spirit — even these, for the sake of being 


8o 


AT REST CASTLE. 


fashioned according to this world, like very hea- 
then mar their flesh to make places from which to 
hang jewels, and are all their lifetime in bondage 
to their dress.'' 

'^Miss Strong, if I had known some one like 
you, years ago, I might be a worker in the world, 
instead of what I am." 

Margaret's face flushed a little at the thought 
of being over-estimated. She seemed deliberating 
in the choice of an answer, and the time for it 
went by in silence. The sound of approaching 
carriage wheels, and clatter of hoofs, prevented a 
reply. 

Shading her eyes with her left hand, and rais- 
ing herself a little with her right arm. Miss Van- 
dyke said, as she peered through the evergreens : 
‘‘ How delightful ! There come the Hales — every 
one ! " 

“Well, this is a pleasure!" she continued, as 
Mr. Hale, after assisting his wife and children 
from the carriage, hastened to greet her, while 
Mrs. Hale, Marjorie and Reginald, were express- 
ing their great happiness at meeting Margaret, 
whom they saw very seldom since her life had 
become such a work-a-day one. 

“Really, you are much improved. Miss Van- 
dyke, since coming to this charming spot," said 
Mrs. Hale cordially, as she greeted her friend. 

Reginald, after paying his respects to her, had 


AT REST CASTLE. 


8i 


moved to a seat a little apart, and seemed trying 
to make an exact and equal division of a bunch of 
daises he had been cramping his fingers in hold- 
ing. Marjorie drew her chair as near to Miss 
Vandyke's as she could get it, and seating her- 
self, looked into her face with an expression of 
admiration and pity. 

Observing what Reginald was doing, and in- 
stinctive^ divining his intentions, Marjorie glanced 
at her own single spray of blooming lily of the val- 
ley, then at Margaret, and then at Miss Vandyke, 
with perplexed look. Miss Vandyke took the free 
little hand in hers, and said: ‘‘How is my dear 
little Marjorie? It is ever so long since I saw 
you ; and how are the ktttens ? " 

“ I'm pretty well, but it isn't kittens any more," 
with a little sigh. 

“Not kittens — so they've grown to be cats, 
have they ? " 

“ O, no. Miss Vandyke ; that isn't it. There's 
only one now." 

“Did one run away; or did somebody steal 
that beautiful maltese?" 

“No," with a wise, prim little smile; and lean- 
ing over with her lips close to Miss Vandyke's 
ear, “ She's very dead ! ' 

“Too bad ! what could have been the trouble?" 

“ Nothing " — under her breath — “ nothing ; 
she just went and died when she wasn't sick a 


82 


AT REST CASTLE. 


bit/' with a little curl of displeasure on her baby- 
lips. ‘^And what do you think. Why, the other 
one, that’s had fits ever so long, has got well.” 
And her two hands came together exultingly, 
while the lily of the valley went to the floor. 

Miss Vandyke could not repress her amusement, 
and her laugh was joined by that of Marjorie, 
causing all to turn to see what it meant and join 
in the merriment. 

Marjorie picked up her flower and put it in 
Miss Vandyke’s hand, then leaning toward her 
with a little shrug, and a mischievous twinkle of 
her blue eyes, whispered very audibly : ‘‘ Let 

me tell you. Uncle Tom said such a foolish thing, 
I think ; but papa always laughs about it. Now 
listen, please. When Uncle Tom heard that the 
well cat had died, and the one with fits lived on, 
he said it was the sur-vi-ver of the fittest. Now 
isn’t that a truly foolishest kind of a thing to 
say .? ” 

Miss Vandyke drew Marjorie to her. ‘‘You lit- 
tle treasure, you must forgive me for laughing, 
but I am afraid I shall have to think as papa does 
about it.” 

Mrs. Hale knew how like a good medicine it 
was to Miss Vandyke to have a little visit with 
Marjorie, so they two were left out of the conver- 
sation. Presently Mr. Hale proposed to his wife 
and Margaret to go to a knoll not far away, from 


AT REST CASTLE. 83 

which there was a fine view of the river and dis- 
tant hills. 

‘‘Now, Marjorie, tell me a story, please; Reg- 
inald is busy, and we can have a cosy time to 
ourselves.” 

“I don’t know what to tell.” 

“Tell me some new story ; I am sure you know 
something new.” 

Marjorie’s brow assumed a thoughtful aspect for 
a moment, then one of amusement. “It’s about a 
balloon. Miss Vandyke, and it’s true, and it shows 
me a bad girl.” 

“ Go on ; we shall see about that.” 

“Well, Reginald had a lovely balloon, and he 
was so very proud of it. I didn’t have any. 
When he was looking so glad about it, as it sailed 
around, while he had one end of the string tight 
in his hand, I said, ‘You needn’t feel so fine; the 
balloon is only a little gas with a thin covering 
over it ’.” 

Miss Vandyke laughed in hearty appreciation, 
saying she thought a companion such as Marjorie 
would soon cure her. 

“Come, Marjorie,” said Mrs. Hale, when they 
returned to the piazza, “you must not be too 
greedy with your friend; I think ” — this to Miss 
Vandyke — “we interrupted you and Miss Strong, 
and must make some amends by not staying too 
long.” 


84 


AT REST CASTLE. 


‘‘ A most welcome interruption ; don^t think of 
going yet ; you and Mr. Hale can help us.^’ Turn- 
ing to him, she continued, with a trace of humor 
in face and voice : We were considering some 
phases of that great theme of humanity called the 
woman question, and Miss Strong urged that until 
women learn to dress in conformity to the laws of 
her being, she cannot take the place God means 
her to fill ; that what we want to do is to make 
worthy use of the privileges we have, thereby 
proving our ability for a wider sphere. Now, Mr. 
Hale, your sex have been always ready to define 
our sphere, and locate us in it ; what is to be our 
future ? '' 

Granting the dismal truth of what you say, I 
am sure it is all in your hands, my fair friends.'' 

^‘Mr. Hale has the floor; we will hear him," 
interjected Miss Vandyke. 

‘‘ Mr. Hale bowed slightly to each of the ladies, 
the semi-seriousness of his face growing more 
earnest. Slowly, as if collecting his thoughts, he 5 
said : Man is coming to a consciousness, dim it < 
may be as yet, of a lack in the management of 
affairs for which he has been considered and felt | 
himself to be fully sufficient, without the aid of i 
the other half of the race — the mother half, i 
Now, the best, broadest men want to go hand in I 
hand with her in the great march of life, he grow- ' 
ing more truly brave, and therefore more kindly 

i 


AT REST CASTLE. 


85 


and more just jHshe becoming more broadened and 
elevated, and therefore more courageous. As this 
increases, the carnal weapons of the warfare of 
life will give place to spiritual ones, which will 
find their most skilled wielding in the hands of 
women. But I beg your pardon for saying so 
much, and saying it so seriously and clumsily. 
Mrs. Hale can give you in a nutshell more wisdom 
on this theme than I am capable of giving in a 
week.'' 

‘‘Excepting your high compliment, I agree, in 
the main, to all you have said," replied Mrs. Hale, 
looking toward him half-seriously ; “ but I often 
recall a picture that tells of a large class of 
women to whom the word ‘privilege' would be but 
an empty sound. In Jerusalem I once obeyed 
the call of the Muezzin and followed the proces- 
sion of men that gathered on the area of the 
Mosque of Omar at the hour of prayer. While 
they were going through their devotional manoeu- 
vres, I noticed a little group of timid, crouching 
figures, off in a corner, also observing the move- 
ments of the men. It was a sight I never can 
forget, and never remember without a heartache for 
those unprivileged women, who had been obliged 
to accept as true the doctrine that they are with- 
out souls, and therefore without need of the ele- 
vating influences provided for immortal beings." 

“We do well to strive to be worthy of our privi- 


86 


AT REST CASTLE. 


leges,” rejoined Miss Vandyke, ^‘and not forget 
that there are many women, yes, many classes of 
women, who are in a bondage for which they are 
in no wise responsible.” 

‘‘Nothing truer,” answered Mr. Hale, “and ages 
of tyranny on the part of the stronger sex impede 
the progress of both them and the weaker, toward 
the normal plane. The advance will be slow, but 
it will also be sure.” 

“In the light of my own environments” — here 
Mrs. Hale sent a sweet, significant smile toward 
her husband — “ to allude to tyranny on the part 
of the stronger sex always seems to me wrong and 
out of place ; but we cannot escape the responsi- 
bility that attends our being sheltered by love and 
justice, and a freedom that allows us to make the 
very best of ourselves. It is just this class of 
women who have it in their power to work out 
the problem of giving a similar freedom to every 
woman.” 

“Amen!” responded Miss Vandyke, “and if 
all good and true women whose hearts are in sym- 
pathy with the need for better laws toward women, 
and better enforcement of already existing good 
laws, would stand together in claiming this reform 
as their reasonable right, there is no earthly power 
that could resist the claim, and heaven would smile 
upon so righteous a courage.” 

Rising to go, Mrs. Hale added in her usual 


AT REST CASTLE. 


87 


cheerful way : I want to express a favorite old- 

fashioned principle, which stands through all the 
vicissitudes of worldly affairs — God has ordained 
the true homes of the world to furnish the embod- 
iment and exponent of the noblest possibilities of 
humanity. The crowning blessing of a home is 
the sweetness of spirit pervading it. To cherish 
and maintain this is woman’s highest and most 
coveted privilege and power, and no advancement 
of the race in this life will ever change this divine 
truth.” 

To which Margaret reflectively answered : 
should like to say what I think mother would, if 
she were here, ‘ Out of the chaos of the struggle, 
so long and so weary to many, shall come the time 
when the crooked places will all be made straight, 
and the rough places smooth ; when the Golden 
Rule shall be the law.’ ” 

Seeming as if about to pause, she was encour- 
aged to proceed by the evident interest felt in her 
words : ‘‘ Then man and woman will act in harmony 

with the eternal fitness of the general law, which 
makes him the bread-winner, and her the bread- 
maker, in the wide sense of these terms. I believe 
this is the decree of Nature, and therefore of God.” 

To which Mrs. Hale responded, ^^True; and 
when that time comes, the spirit of barbarism, 
which accords woman an inferior place in creation, 
will have been forever destroyed.” 


88 


AT REST CASTLE. 


When the friends had taken their leave, and as 
the sound of departing wheels passed beyond their 
hearing, Margaret said to her companion, ‘‘I 
think the friend who advised you to give your 
thought to light themes for awhile might find fault 
with this afternoon's serious conversation." 

suppose he would," replied Miss Vandyke; 
‘‘but the tide was set that way, and no one seemed 
to care to stem it. We will heed his always good 
counsel, however, and try to be less earnest next 
time." 

Journeying homeward in the dusk of the even- 
ing following that afternoon at Rest Castle, Marga- 
ret yielded to a temptation to let her thoughts take 
a range very unusual to her now, and which her 
conscience whispered was very unworthy. The 
surroundings of the afternoon had given her a 
sense of being at home which she had not felt 
since her own home had gone from her. For a 
few hours she had been living over something 
like her old life, and had lost sight of the real pres- 
ent. Turning again to the limitations and trials of 
her environments, there came over her a feeling of 
intense revulsion toward the inevitable duties of 
the hour that shut out from her view every glimpse 
of the compensations which attended her new 
conditions. 

Presently arousing herself, she thought: “But 
I must stand it, and keep my suffering all to myself. 


AT REST CASTLE. 89 

Yes, to myself. I get no comfort by complaining. 
I must try to be brave, no matter what comes.'’ 

At the same twilight hour, also alone. Miss 
Vandyke's thoughts reverted to the afternoon, the 
burden of them being : I am a prisoner to this 
chair, it is true ; but every sorrow, whether heavy 
or light, is soothed and made a blessing to me as 
I tell it all to the loving Lord, who takes note of 
every quivering nerve of His children, and who 
delights to give ‘the garment of praise for the 
spirit of heaviness'." 


CHAPTER VII. 


WORDSWORTH KINGSLY. 


“The world waits for help.” — Mrs. Browning. 


M ARGARET'S sudden transition from home 
and plenty, and the control of her own 
time, to the now different life, could not fail to 
have its effect upon her. Not all of her philoso- 
phy and high sense of duty, however, could save 
her from gradually showing the wear and tear of 
it. It was a sustaining comfort to her, though, to 
know that her work was doing good to some, while 
for her it meant independence. 

Mrs. Hale observed the career of this brave 
girl with peculiar interest. She was her ideal of 
womanhood, so far as she had yet developed. 
Apart from her affectionate regard for her, she 
had the instinct that Margaret was to furnish a 
living illustration of Wordsworth's Phantom of 
Delight" 

While Margaret was facing realities, and in her 
way helping to solve the problem of the age — 
wage-earning and wage-paying — the Rev. Words- 
90 


WORDSWORTH KINGSLY. 


91 


worth Kingsly — whose name was not now unfamil- 
iar to her — from his more favored position was 
trying in his way to solve the same problem, and 
help to usher in the day when strength shall mean 
protection, and power shall mean kindness. Rec- 
ognizing that there is one order in human affairs 
which is best, he felt himself called upon to seek 
out this order, and help promote its establish- 
ment. His words from the pulpit and rostrum 
were becoming a wide force for good. 

But this service to the many did not prevent 
his going down into the depths of wickedness and 
suffering when necessary, and verily touching 
individual outcasts. If, in the back street, and 
within the sound of his own church bells, there 
were fightings and worse than these, it was often 
he that came to bring peace ; or if in a drunken 
delirium some brutalized man felled his wife to 
the floor and caused her to become more dead 
than alive under his torture, the staying hand of 
Wordsworth Kingsly often brought the frensied 
man to himself ; protected and helped his chil- 
dren, and aided him to resist the temptation of 
strong drink until his manhood returned. 

To-day, sitting before his library table, he had 
been thinking, and his pen had been taking down 
his thoughts, upon the needs of the world and 
the seeming inadequacy of the efforts made for its 
relief. His manly physique and almost super- 


92 


WORDSWORTH KINGSLY. 


abundant powers of endurance were showing signs 
of impairment. 

The pen slipped from his fingers ; he leaned 
his head back on his study-chair, and looked with 
an expression akin to pleading at the objects by 
which he was surrounded. A statue of Atlas bear- 
ing the blue vault upon his shoulders, seemed to 
speak to him with a dumb sympathy : ‘‘ Bend your- 
self to the burden, there is no escaping it ; and worst 
of all, there is no end to it. Lift as you will, the 
great weight of human woe seems undiminished.'' 

From the wall, the face of Zeus suggested 
power, sovereignty, and the thunder of wrath to 
be hurled against wrong. Mechanically his eyes 
rested on a coin used as a paper-weight, on which 
was a representation of Athene, of the Greeks ; 
but the heavenly character suggested by her, the 
myth that awarded to her the ways of peace and 
love, seemed to him worse than vain. 

He rose and walked the floor. ^‘Surely," he 
mused, ‘‘ uprightness and truth shall be triumphant. 
And God, in His own time, will fulfill His purpose 
in and by His creatures." 

A tap at the door he knew was the announce- 
ment of Miss Kingsly's coming. She had heard 
his restless footfalls, and knew it meant for him 
an overcharged heart and brain. 

‘‘Just like you, sister," he said, as he led her 
to the chair that was always kept for her in his 


WORDSWORTH KINGSLY. 


93 


study ; I have been needing you all the morning, 
to clear up matters for me and lead me into the 
light once more/' 

‘‘Well, sit here by me and we will reason to- 
gether," was the reply. “I may need to reprove 
you a little to begin with, for evidently you are 
tired, and not in a condition to see matters in their 
true light ; but I will forgive you even before you 
ask it, if I see evidence of penitence and reform," 
and Miss Kingsly’s loving face showed the appreci- 
ative interest she felt in her brother and his work. 

“ I have to confess, sister, that for a little while 
I was overcome by the cry for help that I cannot 
answer, and forgetting for a moment that God will 
work over us, if he cannot work by us, I lost hold of 
my anchor and — well, I yielded to discouragement. 
In your presence I cannot feel so ; but this human 
depravity is a fact that must take serious hold of 
all thoughtful people ; the poison of the forbidden 
fruit taints the blood of the whole race." 

“Very true, my brother; but do you forget that 
there is a Great Physician, and that the blue sky 
of heaven is larger than any cloud .^ " 

“You are right, I grant ; but I have been telling 
over and over again of the only way for the soul’s 
cure, and had felt that many of the men and 
women were being gathered in, that they might 
be saved ; but it almost seems as if Satan is gain- 
ing the victory." 


94 


WORDSWORTH KINGSLY. 


It is your intense longing after righteousness 
for all, that makes wrong so apparent to you ; but 
over-zeal, even in this direction, hinders the best 
success. Jean Ingelow uttered a grand and com- 
pensating truth when she said : 

‘ I am glad to think 

I am not bound to make the wrong go right ; 

But only to discover and to do 

With cheerful heart, the work that God appoints.*’^ 

Seeing him disposed to listen, she continued, 
after a brief pause : Remember, we are exhorted 

by the All Father to do good as we have oppor- 
tunity ; to follow Him who went about doing good ; 
and all4he promises are to those who do not be- 
come weary in well-doing.’' 

‘‘ Sound doctrine, my sister ; I willingly accept 
it all.” 

Miss Kingsly continued : Results belong to 
Him. He who, when on earth was moved with 
compassion for the multitudes because they were 
distressed and scattered, as sheep without a shep- 
herd, told those whom He sent forth in His name 
to minister to the needy, not to be anxious. It is 
our anxiety, usually, and not our work, that harms 
us.” 

As the wonted sparkle returned to his face, he 
said : ‘Ht is a privilege to be preached to, once in 
awhile ; we preachers do not have it often enough. 


WORDSWORTH KINGSLY. 


95 


Give me some practical illustrations as you pro- 
ceed ; for instance, how shall I so present the 
abominations of intemperance, of the spirit of 
caste, of dishonesty and tyranny in business, of 
man’s inhumanity to man. and of the worse sin — of 
woman’s heartlessness toward her own sex, as to 
show the enormity of these things ? ” 

‘^You ask too much of me; but if these and 
other sins are to be battled, be sure there is a 
way of successful warfare. Our Captain will see 
to it that His soldiers are fully equipped. Let me 
add some others to your list of evils, which, but 
for trust in the great Over Soul, would dismay 
the bravest. Who is sufficient to grapple with 
the question of social purity, of immoral amuse- 
ments, and the squandering of time, talents, and 
the soul itself, by means of these You will call 
it woman’s logic, perhaps, but it seems to me this 
appalling list may be overshadowed sometimes to 
advantage, by holding before it just one virtue — 
that of love to our neighbor, which, if properly 
exercised, would make all of these sins well-nigh 
impossible.” 

Mr. Kingsly leaned forward with eager interest as 
she continued to bring before his mind ideas that 
were already his own, and usually dominant, but 
in moments of depression were not heeded: ^Ht 
is necessary to preach against individual sins, to 
grapple singly with these great questions to which 


96 


WORDSWORTH KINGSLY. 


you refer ; but people need so much to learn 
to practice kindness, which some one has well 
called ‘love in action.' When this lesson of love 
is learned, the other things will take care of 
themselves. When we love our neighbor — love 
as Christ commanded — we cannot harm him. 
But I beg your pardon for such a monopoly of the 
conversation." 

“Apology is out of place; I needed just these 
reminders. You have wheeled me into the true 
line; you have helped my clumsy faculties by your 
more spiritual insight, which enables you so readily 
to trust and to follow God in everything ; to go 
beyond all second causes, and know that whatso- 
ever the Lord please, that does He in heaven and 
on earth." 

Miss Kingsly acknowledged by a smile her 
appreciation of his words, and he added : “ Sordello 
was right — ‘ God vouchsafed to man two sights ; 
one, of the future with its complete work — that 
perfect ideal which is to be one day the actual ; 
and one, of the daily tasks that must be wrought 
to make that work complete. Each must work for 
all ; the step that each man takes helps on the 
universal march.'" 

“Truly, or as the Bible has it, ‘no man liveth 
unto himself," she quietly replied. 

“The tender mercy of the Father sent you in 
here this morning, my darling sister. He who 


WORDSWORTH KINGSLY. 


97 


gave Aaron and Hur to Moses, when his arms 
were about to fall by his side, knows that it is not 
good for man to be alone. I pray that I may 
attain to your ideal, and to so much divine self- 
oblivion as shall let the power of God flow through 
me and make me of large use in the world.” And 
Mr. Kingsly's face gradually regained its usual 
serenity.” 

‘‘When I am weak, then I am strong; He 
always knows the way to strengthen,” answered 
Miss Kingsly, rising ; “ I am not telling you any- 
thing new ; indeed, I think I am indebted to you 
for much of what I have said. I speak only by 
way of reminder. And now I wait for you to 
promise me that you will take a long walk ; the 
Park is in its winter glory to-day. Let the voice 
of Nature speak to you and establish the perfect 
peace that flows in the soul that is in accord with 
Him ; it is your surest way to regain the self- 
command that means to its possessor true domin- 
ion. Our best work is never done when nerve 
and heart have lost their normal rhythm. Even 
a few scattering notes of the Divine breathing 
in Nature will quite often soothe and restore as 
nothing else can. But why should I prattle on 
in this way, knowing so well that you, in ‘com- 
munion with her visible forms,' have become 
familiar with the ‘various language' and ministry 
of Nature.” 


98 


WORDSWORTH KINGSLY. 


As he walked alone in the Park, one hand 
behind him, the other slipped into the lapel of 
his coat, more than one who met him turned to 
look again, attracted by his rare nobility of person 
and indescribable expression of reverence and be- 
nevolence, all embodying a something that might 
be summed up in the word vital. 

Suddenly he felt a pressure of a tiny hand on 
his own, and little Marjorie Hale's cheery voice 
greeted him : Good-morning, Mr. Kingsly ; did 
I frighten you You looked like yourself had 
gone clear away." 

‘‘ A welcome fright, my dear. But myself does 
not often get very far away from such little friends 
as you. Where did you come from ; you are not 
here alone ? " 

‘‘Surely No. Mamma and Reginald were with 
me, and she said I might run and catch up with 
you, and you would drop me at home as you pass. 
I hope you won't drop me very hard, though ? " 

“ At your jokes again ; I think Uncle Tom must 
be around." 

“ Why, Mr. Kingsly, how could you guess ? He 
is coming to-morrow to stay two weeks, while he 
has his vacating ! And what do you think ? Reg- 
inald says, as I am not half so old as he is, he 
doesn't see how I can have half as much fun with 
Uncle Tom as he will. But papa says if I have 
all the fun I can hold, he thinks Reginald won't 


WORDSWORTH KINGSLY. 


99 


get ahead of me at all, and mamma says papa is a 
real philosophyer/' 

The winsome company of the child both inter- 
ested and helped him. When he and his sister 
met that day at dinner, she noticed that all trace 
of the morning’s stress of care had gone. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


CHRISTMAS EVE. 


“The full, rich, innocent use of gifts and opportunities — how 
little do we understand it I For every purpose of noble gladness, 
how much more might almost every one of us make of our life 
than we do ! ” — Farrar. 


HE changing seasons brought little variation 



A into the life of Margaret. She was learn- 
ing the weary steps of what was largely tread-mill 
existence, with not much opportunity for anything 
beyond earning the necessary income, and lifting 
Amy along in her clinging despondency. Anni- 
versary days were the saddest of all now, and work 
had come to be Margaret's relief from painful 
memories. 

As she plodded toward her home one winter 
evening, the pathos that had possession of her face 
for the time was somewhat concealed by the mist 
of the storm. She was not insensible to the wild 
beauty of the scene, but she hastened on, leaving 
to happier hearts enjoyment of the picturesque 
panorama which the evening displayed. 


lOO 


CHRISTMAS EVE. 


lOI 


It was Christmas Eve, and the very air told of 
the spirit of the time. The broad, smooth sidewalk 
gave back but faint echoes of the many foot-falls. 
Through the strong lights from the street lamps, 
the driving snow gave the effect of a gauze cur- 
tain hung between them and the hurrying pedes- 
trians, and burnished the branches of the trees 
near by until they shone like a frosted fleece. 

Later on in the same evening, as Wordsworth 
Kingsly passed out from the genial church parlor, 
after his usual Saturday evening talk with the men 
of his congregation, he drew his overcoat collar 
close about his ears and tucked his muffler care- 
fully over his throat. The avenue through which 
his way led was still alive with a restless tide of 
humanity, though from several towers near by, 
the hour of nine had already been proclaimed. 

The immediate surroundings of the church pre- 
sented little else than homes of people of wealth. 
On this bleak December evening not much of the 
glow of hospitable light was manifest upon the 
exteriors of these stately mansions. Brown-stone 
fronts, whose elevations went a good way in the 
commonly-accepted direction of heaven, neverthe- 
less had their foundations in the common earth. 

The bell-push at the great front door that was 
meant to turn on its hinges at the call of elegance 
or power only, was not, however, beyond the reach 
of a little shivering, scantily-clad girl, who had 


102 


CHRISTMAS EVE. 


been trying to gather courage to mount the long 
flight of stone steps and beg that her yet unsold 
store might be exchanged for a few pennies that 
would mean so much to her. 

In answer to her ring, a cold blast found its 
way into the brilliant hall and a flood of light 
streamed out, bringing to the view of Mr. Kingsly, 
who was just passing, a picture whose lights and 
shades led him to pause and observe its further 
changes. It took but a moment for the kind- 
faced waiting man to hear her story and give her 
more than the price of her flowers. Hearts are 
tender when thoughts of the babe in the manger 
and the unselfish Christ are uppermost. 

The closing of the door took the light out of 
the picture, but waiting until the child came near, 
- Mr. Kingsly saw on her face a glow of gladness 
that told of a heart lightened and lifted, at least 
for the time. My child,’' he said, ^‘how far have 
you come to sell your flowers 

His presence and voice startled her at first, 
but the instinct that always goes with purity, and 
is its unerring protection, reassured her. 

‘^We live down in Grand Street, sir,” she an- 
swered, and continuing as if impelled by her 
great joy: ^'Just think. I’ve got more money than 
they were all worth, and these five are left. O, 
how happy grandmother will be, and what a dear 
Christmas we shall have ! We two are all that's 


CHRISTMAS EVE. 


103 


left now.’' And her tears of joy seemed to turn 
to those of sorrow as she spoke. 

His own generous addition to her silver store 
was received in silence, but her gratitude expressed 
itself in her uplifted dark eyes, and in an attempt 
to smile, which revealed a whole volume of present 
suffering and unhoped-for possibilities. He asked 
her name and address, and the two went their dif- 
ferent ways. 

As he continued his walk he thought : This 
poverty, which seems so hard, is so hard ; it was 
into this that the Saviour of the world came, and 
came voluntarily. Since God cared most of all 
for the child that, in its poverty, had to pass its 
first night in a manger, we know that He tenderly 
cares for the homeless and the outcast still. 

‘^This care of the Father, how glorious it is! 
Take no thought for yourselves. He says, no anx- 
ious thought, for He careth for you. Our only 
care should be to do his will ; that is, to do our 
work in His name, and leave all else to Him. 

^‘To-night we think of the babyhood of Jesus. 
For the Christ to come to earth as a baby, brings 
him so into the mother-heart of the world. What 
is there like mother-love toward babyhood to save 
human hearts from the dominion of selfishness } 
And when selfishness is conquered. He shall reign 
upon whose shoulders the government is to be! 
Then shall the full glory of the Lord be revealed ! ” 


104 


CHRISTMAS EVE, 


The intensity of his thought took the form of 
prayer : O, God ; thou mother and father of all, 

give me the true light and strength. I ask not 
for power or greatness. I would keep before me 
the high ideal yet to be the real. Help me to feed 
with the bread of life those to whom I am called 
to minister. Let me truly serve. Let thy spirit 
possess me. Suffer me not to be puffed up. 
Help me to do good as I have opportunity, humbly 
and wisely. I would lay hold of thee with my 
whole being. Surely thou art my light, my shield, 
my strength, and my portion forever. Let me 
have of that abundance of life that Christ came to 
give, and let love inspire me.’’ 

Long before the little flower girl reached her 
home in the fifth story of a poor tenement house, 
and had laughed and cried by turns, as she related 
the experiences of the long hours since she had 
started out with an aching heart and her grand- 
mother’s gentle God take care of you, dearie,” he 
had reached his home and sat with his sister be- 
fore the genial library fire, talking over the events 
of the evening. The last package but one that 
was meant to cheer hearts at the Christmas tide had 
been sent to its destination, and Miss Kingsly’s 
face told of the pleasure she had found in remem- 
bering those in need. 

‘H have a new case for you, sister,” he said. 

In your list of persons to be looked after, place 


CHRISTMAS EVE. 


105 


that of Corinne Joubert.’’ After relating the cir- 
cumstances of his meeting her, he continued, 
^^She has a face that hopes, despairs and loves, 
all in as rapid succession as you can mention these 
emotions.'' 

I think I may make to-morrow a little brighter 
for her, and we will have Mrs. Wiswell look after 
them," Miss Kingsly replied. package I in- 

tended for another was no doubt Providentially 
ordered for them. It has come to me to-day as 
never before, that however we may propose, God 
will dispose." 

‘‘That is one of the lessons He would have us 
learn, sister ; but for that faith, I could not endure 
the strain upon my heart caused by human suffer- 
ing. I took the thirteenth chapter of Corinthians 
for my theme this evening, and it seemed new 
again to me." 

“Always new, my dear brother. When for a 
moment I was tempted to-day to think I was doing 
a good deal for the poor, as package and basket 
went out, I was rebuked by the reminder that if I 
bestow all my goods, if I give my body to be 
burned, even, but have not love, the profit to me 
is nothing ; ‘ the gift without the giver is indeed 
bare'." 

Brushing away a tear, and in a voice slightly 
tremulous, she added : “ Mother used to say that 
God does not think much about our loving Him ; 


io6 


CHRISTMAS EVE. 


He knows that if we love each other rightly, the 
love for Him will take care of itself ; He is more 
concerned about peace and good-will 'toward man 
on earth, than about our peace with Him. And 
when was mother ever wrong 

It was the first Christmas that Mr. Kingsly and 
his sister had known without the presence of their 
mother and father, and memories crowded so thick, 
and the missing ones were so nearly present, that 
words seemed out of place, silence eloquent. 

The faithful ‘‘Cousin Rosanna,” who for more 
than forty years had in this home been the care- 
taker of the housekeeper’s domain, passed in and 
out, saw that the house was duly closed, and with 
a quiet “good-night,” left the brother and sister, 
who now made the family, to their memories. 
Later, as they separated for the night, he said, 
“They needed rest, and God gave it them; they 
are happy above our guessing.” 

At the same hour, in a distant part of the city, 
as the midnight stroke cast its weird influence, 
Margaret and Amy lingered in the waning light of 
their slumbering fire and yielded to reminiscences 
of a bright and lost past, and to foreboding of an 
uncertain future. Margaret for once betrayed to 
her sister more lack of courage than she had ever 
shown before. Rallying almost immediately, how- 
ever, she spoke with her accustomed self-control : 
“After all, we have each other, little Amy, and 


CHRISTMAS EVE. 


107 


that makes us rich. I am ashamed of myself to 
have been so weak in your presence ; but I felt for 
the moment like saying with Portia, 'my little 
body is weary with this great world'.'' 

Amy put both arms around her sister's neck in 
a tearful embrace that was returned with genuine 
sisterly warmth, and Margaret resumed her talk : 
" Let us put away these sad memories and gloomy 
forecasts. Let us idealize our surroundings, and 
make it real that this is the time for the appearing 
of the star to which all our hopes turn. Even 
now, with the ear of our finer sense, we may hear 
the glad song of the angels, 'Peace on Earth'." 

To Wordsworth Kingsly had been bequeathed, 
through a long line of ancestry, a heritage of fine 
physical and intellectual traits and sturdy rectitude. 
In himself he exemplified the true spirit of that 
part of the second commandment which sets forth 
the mercy of God unto thousands of generations 
that love God and keep His commandments. 

In accounting for his great success as a minister 
of the gospel, all that had come to him through 
heredity weighed for much. Realizing his good 
inheritance, he was the more alert to be worthy of 
it, counting it rather a debt he owed his ancestry 
to make the most of his powers, than a legacy that 
exempted him from effort. Simplicity, sympathy, 
and what, for want of a better term, is called unc- 
tiofiy marked his preaching, which, but for these 


io8 


CHRISTMAS EVE. 


qualities, surely could not have been called great. 
That his immense church was not sufficient to 
contain the crowds who came to hear him, had 
ceased to be a surprise. There was no attraction 
of professional choir or elaborate organ selections ; 
a precentor led the congregation in their singing 
of hymns and chanting of Scripture. Many were 
the testimonies of those who found their way to 
the Truth through the heart-touch that came by 
means of worshipful music. 

This pastor knew his flock, a possible thing 
for such a man as he. How could he feed them 
if he knew not their needs ? The stories of 
friendless wanderers in inhospitable city streets, 
of unprotected lives in crowded tenements, of 
hunger, weariness and heartbreak, which came to 
him out of real life, were teeming with tragical 
picturesqueness. 

His lofty, yet eminently practical consecration 
to service, had gathered to him a band of helpers 
who counted it a high privilege to work with so 
good a leader. A far-reaching influence went out 
from this church, which was counted a marvel, 
even by those who cared nothing for the Chris- 
tianity which it was its mission to set forth. 

The meeting with Corinne Joubert that night 
in the pitiless storm, was not a mere passing event 
from which he might draw a pathetic illustration 
with which to adorn a sermon, but an opportunity 


CHRISTMAS EVE. 


109 


to bring some light and help into lives needing 
such ministry. He who sees into all that makes 
up a life, knew that for Corinne and her grand- 
mother, this coming of Mr. Kingsly into their lives 
in a manner so unlooked for, meant blessing and 
help that only eternity could measure. 


CHAPTER IX. 


DARKNESS AND LIGHT. 

‘‘And well may the children weep before you — 
They are weary ere they run ; 

They have never seen the sunshine nor the glory, 
Which is brighter than the sun.” 


— Mrs. Browning. 



‘HE sky was very light on Christmas morn- 


J- ing. The air glistened with scintillations 
of frost and vibrated with eager sounds of chimes 
that now, as if in extatic joy, and now as if in 
broken peals of silver bells, and again in wild 
abandon of music, seemed striving to tell the story 
of the ages ; and by a tension of ideality there 
seemed to come from above these tones the song 
of the heavenly host ; Glory to God in the high- 
est, and on earth peace among men.'' 

The sun had been shining some time, and now 
the brilliancy was dazzling on the top crust of the 
snow covering of the roof upon which Corinne 
Joubert blinked from her attic window. 

Her sleep had been broken by the ringing of 
the bells, and the music with which her whole 


I 10 


DARKNESS AND LIGHT. 


I I I 


nature was alive responded in an outburst of meb 
ody. Before she had left her pillow the room was 
filled with her song. Tears on grandmother’s 
cheek, which came, she hardly knew why, were 
carefully brushed away before the child’s good- 
morning, which was answered with, My birdie 
was not made too tired last night to use her throat 
this morning.” 

While the old lady prepared their breakfast, 
which was more tempting than usual because of 
the day and of Corinne’s success with her flowers 
the evening before, the child stood with both 
elbows on the sill of the one window of their one 
room, her chin resting in both her hands, and 
gazed out upon the white roofs, a troubled look in 
her deep, dark eyes having taken the place of the 
gleeful one of a few moments before. She liked 
to indulge the fancy of a real Santa Claus, who 
sits in a real sleigh, drives real reindeers, and lav- 
ishes on children gifts that bring real delight. 

‘‘I am very sure,” so ran her thoughts, ‘^that 
he has not driven this way this Christmas ; there 
isn’t a single track on all these roofs. Why should 
he forget us now — grandmother and me When 
we lived in Myrtle Street, and had several rooms, 
and mamma was here and could sing, he always 
came.” 

A sob she could not smother reached the ear 
of the grandmother as she said, ‘‘ Come to break- 


I 12 


DARKNESS AND LIGHT. 


fast, Corinne dear ; you will have to be indus- 
trious to get off to the chapel in time.” 

‘‘ Grandmother,” began Corinne, in a voice tem- 
pered with awe, as they sat about their little break- 
fast table, I think mamma gets homesick for us 
when Christmas comes. Somehow, it seems to 
me she comes back and looks at us, and tries to 
tell us how nice it is in heaven, and that she is all 
the time getting things ready for us there. I 
shouldn’t like to sit in her chair on Christmas day. 
I’m sure. Maybe God lets her come back and be 
with us, only out eyes are not made to see the 
kind of bodies people have in heaven. Wasn’t it 
dear and good before she died ! ” 

A tearful silence fell upon both for a moment. 

Where is papa, grandmother.^ Will he ever 
come back and take us away from this lonesome 
place ? ” 

With truly womanly courage and tact unfailing, 
grandmother led the child’s thoughts into more 
cheerful channels, and both turned to their slender 
causes for thankfulness for blessings that were 
still theirs. 

The hope that the child might escape the bitter- 
ness of an unsheltered life was an abiding one 
with the grandmother. For herself, she was un- 
consciously numbered as one who is a martyr by 
the pang, yet without the palm. Privation had 
been her portion in this life and yet she trusted 


DARKNESS AND LIGHT. II3 

that in it all God was dealing with her in love, 
and that all things worked together for good. 

She had attained to the true rest of faith and 
hope. In her lonely attic home she had the com- 
panionship of Him who is no respecter of persons 
or places ; and on this day when, after the morn- 
ing chores were finished, she sat with her well- 
worn Bible, now reading some comforting passage, 
and now pausing to rest her weary eyes and think 
of the goodness of God, she presented a picture 
worthy the pencil of a Raphael. 

Excepting the soft dark-brown of her eyes and 
the black of her dress, all was light about her. 
Hair white as the snow on the roof, colorless skin, 
and an expression of chastened sorrow, with an 
undercurrent of blessed joy. A gray handker- 
chief — a gift the evening before from Corinne, 
made possible by the kindness of Mr. Kingsly 
and ‘‘the man at the door of the grand house” — 
was gracefully folded about her slight shoulders. 
A soft white cap, with a bow to match the hand- 
kerchief, rested as a halo on her well-shaped head. 

O, grandmother ! ” eagerly spoke Corinne, as 
she bade her good-by, on starting to the chapel, 
“ I’m all made new with these lovely cardinal 
mittens and hood ; they warm me all through, and 
make me feel like singing, singing, all the time.” 

But noticing a weary look on the diar old face, 
she continued: “I’m afraid your eyes will be tired 


I 14 DARKNESS AND LIGHT. 

a long time, after so much knitting; you’ll rest 
now, won’t you } ” 

Don’t think of the knitting ; it was such a 
pleasure. Be glad, and sing all you feel like, 
dearie ; grandmother will soon be rested.” With- 
out knowing just why, the old lady felt that before 
another spring-time she would be where there are 
no winter skies, and beyond the place of weari- 
ness. 

Following Christmas there were long, lonely 
days for her, while Corinne bravely went forth to 
earn by the sale of flowers a sum which, in ad- 
dition to a small life pension the grandmother 
received, and timely assistance prompted by Mr. 
Kingsly, kept them sheltered, clothed and fed. 

Corinne had noticed a change in her grand- 
mother, a failing of strength, and had come to 
expect on her return in the evening, to And her 
lying down or sitting wearily. She saw, too, how 
great an effort she made to be cheerful, and to do 
the work necessary for their comfort. 

So time went on. Good Friday had come and 
gone, and Corinne went toward her home late in 
the day with a heavy heart. Her sales had been 
light, and the extra pennies from purchasers had 
in consequence been few. It seemed long since 
Miss Kingsly had come with help, and her heart 
was very heavy for so light a little body. When 
she reached their room she missed the light that 


DARKNESS AND LIGHT. I I 5 

was usually there when she came in, and it sur- 
prised her when grandmother said, ‘‘I forgot to 
light the lamp ; how strange ! '' 

A cup of tea refreshed the old lady for the time, 
and something of the accustomed cheer attended 
their simple evening meal. Corinne soon forgot 
all her cares in the blessed sleep with which Na- 
ture endows childhood. 

While the child slept, the grandmother passed 
the hours of the long night as one upon whom the 
hold on the natural life is loosening, and to whom 
the heavenly is becoming the most real. For her- 
self, the change would be eagerly welcomed, but 
the world seemed a lonesome place for the mother- 
less child. ^ 

Grandmother dear, it is ever so late. I know 
it by the light in the room, and there ! the great 
church clock is striking — nine! You didn’t call 
me, and I slipped up and dressed quiet as a mouse, 
so you could have a good long nap.” 

‘‘ Yes, my sweet child, I know it is late ; I am a 
little lazy this morning. Can you play that you 
are grandmother, and get some breakfast for your- 
self.^ It was a bitter cold night, and you must 
look out or Jack Frost will get your fingers before 
you know it. Please lay your shawl over grand- 
mother’s shoulders — there, that is right — it will 
warm me up a little.” 

It was a pleading face that looked up to Corinne 


Il6 DARKNESS AND LIGHT. 

as she stood by the bedside of the weary old 
soul. The child kissed the dear face fondly, while 
the instinct of her sympathetic nature, and deep 
love for her grandmother, filled her with dread 
apprehension of some impending distress, some 
new sorrow. She kept back her rising sobs, 
while she prepared her own frugal breakfast, and 
tried to persuade her grandmother to take some 
refreshment. The mere thought of swallowing 
anything choked the child, and her simple morn- 
ing meal was hardly tasted. 

‘‘Now get the bible, dearie; there’s always 
light, and warmth, and strength in God’s word.” 
She spoke slowly and feebly, as she continued : 
“ My eyes are so dirq^ and my arms are so tired, I 
must let you do the reading this time. Turn to 
the Revelation; you’ll find the place easily — the 
seventh chapter — it almost opens there of itself.” 

“I have it, grandmother.” 

“ Sit close to me, dear ; my ears, too, seem tired, 
and I want to hear every precious word. Begin 
at the ninth verse, please,” and, exhausted by the 
effort she had made, the weary arms dropped qui- 
etly by her side, and great tears welled from 
below her closed eyelids. 

The child nerved herself and read, though with 
tears in her voice: “After this I beheld, and, lo, 
a great multitude, which no man could number, 
of all nations, and kindreds, and people, and 


DARKNESS AND LIGHT. 11/ 

tongues, Stood before the throne, and before the 
Lamb, clothed with white robes, and palms in 
their hands ; 

^^And cried with a loud voice, saying. Salvation 
to our God which sitteth upon the throne, and 
unto the Lamb.’' 

Amen ! my soul repeat his praise,” reverently 
responded the grandmother. 

And the child read on : And all the angels 
stood round about the throne, and about the elders 
and the four beasts, and fell before the throne on 
their faces, and worshipped God ” — 

‘‘Joy in heaven among the angels even over 
one. O, the depth of the love of Christ ! ” came 
from the faltering lips. 

As Corinne came to the words, “ Blessing and 
glory,” the feeble voice of the aged sufferer joined 
that of the reader, and the two repeated in unison : 
“and wisdom, and thanksgiving, and honor, and 
power, and might, be unto our God forever and 
ever. Amen.” 

With a trembling voice the child continued : 
“And one of the elders answered, saying unto me, 
What are these which are arrayed in white robes, 
and whence came they.^ 

“ And I said unto him. Sir, thou knowest. And 
he said unto me. These are they that came out of 
great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and 
made them white in the blood of the Lamb.” 


Ii8 DARKNESS AND LIGHT. 

‘‘Truly the Spirit is our witness,” again spok^ 
the dear old saint. “O, loving Lamb of God, 
that taketh away our sin ! ” 

“Therefore,” continued the plaintive tones of 
Corinne, “are they before the throne of God, and 
serve Him day and night in His temple ; and 
He that sitteth on the throne shall dwell among 
them.” 

The wrinkled hands clasped each other so exul- 
tantly, and the dimming eyes opened with such an 
expression of holy joy, that Corinne was awed to 
silence. 

“Read on, dear; it is the very word of God.” 

The plaintive voice of Corinne went on : “They 
shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more ; 
neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. 

“For the Lamb, which is in the midst of the 
throne, shall feed them, and shall lead them to 
fountains of waters ; and God shall wipe away all 
tears from their eyes.” 

With the last word, Corinne pressed her cheek 
against her grandmother’s, and both for a time 
gave way to feelings that were too intense to be 
longer held in check. 

Then grandmother spoke : “ It is not well for 
us to yield too much to this, my darling little one ; 
the dear Father knows all about it, and He will 
take good care of us. Trust Him, love Him, and 
no harm can come. My little girl knows about 


DARKNESS AND LIGHT. I I9 

Him. Will she promise to read His word and to 
never, never turn away from Him.?'' 

After a pause, she added feebly: ‘Hn my small 
drawer you will find the key that unlocks the se- 
cret drawer of the chest ; bring me from the chest 
a package tied with black ribbon." 

Corinne seemed to have lost the power of 
speech ; she listened and obeyed mechanically. 
The feeble hands trembled as they received the 
parcel, and the voice quivered as she said with 
many efforts: ‘‘I want you to take care of this 
now ; it is yours. Keep it safe ; sometime you 
will want to read what is in it." 

Corinne placed it in her own little drawer, and 
like one in a dream came and sat by the low bed- 
side where lay all that made this world have any 
home likeness for her. The day wore on. The 
late afternoon sun caused the shadows in the room 
to slant. The aged pilgrim seemed to be sleeping 
peacefully, a hand clasping one of Corinne’s, but 
her breathing was so low that in listening for it 
the child was startled by the sound of her own 
heart-beats. 

From a church bell, not far away, came into the 
stillness of the room the sound of the Angelus. 
The pressure of the hand tightened ; the eyes of 
the sleeper opened with an upturned look of joy 
and peace. 

Very pathetic was the breaking of the silence 


120 


DARKNESS AND LIGHT. 


then : Grandmother, your little Corinne is right 
here ; please don’t look that way ; grandmother, 
look at me.” 

‘‘Oh, the joy — the glory — the peace! He is 
waiting. O, the shining ones — the heavenly mu. 
sic ; I come, O, blessed One ; I come — I come ! ” 

The last words were faint, the clasp was loos- 
ened, the eyes closed, there was a quiver of the 
chin, and the breathing ceased, not to begin again 
in this world, though long, eagerly and heroically, 
Corinne listened and watched for the faintest 
ray of hope. She rested her head on the same 
pillow where the grandmother’s lay, and while an 
expression of holy peace rested on the face of the 
dead and brought almost the appearance of youth 
into it, there seemed to come into the face of Co- 
rinne the lines of mature years. 

She rose and stood as if bound to the place. 
Taking one of the lifeless hands in her own for an 
instant, then laying it down, she turned away, and 
looking about her, saw that it was night. A chilli- 
ness came over her, she felt herself sinking, every- 
thing seemed to be going out of her sight and 
reach, and with a wail of hopelessness, she cried, 
“Oh, grandmother! Oh, mamma!” and concious- 
ness was gone. 

He whose tender mercies are over all His 
works, who gives His angels charge concerning 
His children, did not leave that stricken child 


DARKNESS AND LIGHT. 


I2I 


long alone in the weird shadows where she had 
fallen. Far removed from the realm denominated 
accident did it occur that almost simultaneously 
with the shock occasioned by Corinne's fall, the 
door was gently opened, and ministry whose im- 
pulse came from loving sympathy, brought the help 
necessary for the hour. 


CHAPTER X. 


MOTHERDY. 


‘‘It cannot be, when the root is neglected, that what should 
spring from it will be well ordered.” — Confucius. 

I AM sure she would be glad for you to read it, 
and Pm most starved to know what it is. I 
do love you, and shall always call you motherdy, 
as you tell me I may, but I’m so lonesome some- 
times without grandmother,” and Corinne nestled 
her face on Mrs. Wiswell’s bosom and cried like 
any child, saying through her sobs, ‘‘Read it, 
please, and then tell me about it.” 

Mr. Kingsly had found in Mrs. Wiswell a wise 
helper in ministering to the distressed. It was 
she who had found Corinne alone with the dead, 
and cared for both the living and the dead until 
the one was no longer homeless, and the other in 
the pale realms of shade had taken her chamber 
in the silent halls of death. 

By that indefinable instinct that often discovers 
a kinship more vital than that of blood or choice 
between two hearts that meet for the first time, 
Mrs. Wiswell and Corinne recognized in each 


122 


MOTHERDY. 


123 


other from the first meeting* an essential outlet 
for their pent-up and deep affections. 

When, therefore, Mrs. Wiswell said to the child, 
‘‘You are to go with me and be my one little ewe 
lamb,” Corinne, laughing and crying together, 
had said : “ O, how dear and good it will be ! 

Grandmother said that God had a mother for me 
somewhere around, but I didn't know how ever I 
could find her ! ” 

To Corinne, Mrs. Wiswell came as a mother in 
a good sense of that blessed name ; and the child, 
with her winning ways, her gift of song and purity 
of soul, was to the lonely mother-heart as sunshine 
to earth after a long eclipse. 

Mrs. Wiswell had known the highest bliss of a 
womanly woman ; a true and happy marriage, a 
home suited to the necessities of rearing a family 
in all noble ways, and children who gave promise 
of proving worthy illustrations of their excellent 
inheritance. But the husband perished at sea 
while nearing his native shore, and the loss of 
both of her children completed the desolation of 
her home. 

After time had brought some healing, she 
began to consider what her future should be. 
Home-making she recognized as her mission, and 
toward that her whole nature turned. Those who 
knew her well, therefore, regarded it a very natu- 
ral thing that her spacious home came to be, not 


124 


MOTHERDY. 


a mere boarding-house for people too shiftless, too 
unhappy, or too foolish to care to make homes of 
their own, but a home in a good sense of the word 
for some who, by misfortune of one kind and 
another, were unable to maintain a separate and 
exclusive place of residence. 

It was some time after Corinne had come to 
be with her new-found mother, and the two were 
considering whether to open the package that her 
grandmother had intrusted to Corinne that last 
sad day. Complying with the child’s desire, Mrs. 
Wiswell read first to herself : 

My Precious Little Corinne — 

As you grow old enough to think of the world and its ways, 
you will wonder about yourself and the conditions of your life. 
To answer these wonderings, grandmother writes down this bit of 
life history. 

You can remember just a little about your “mamam,” as you 
delighted to call her, whose characteristics are in some ways so 
wonderfully repeated in you, her only child. 

It is easy for you and for me to idealize her now into a perfect 
being, and truly I cannot recall any fault she had; God saw 
many, no doubt. She was by inheritance full of music; her 
father having devoted his life to music as a profession. When 
she was not yet grown to womanhood, the two used to give their 
Sabbath afternoons to singing to the prisoners behind the bars, 
and to the sick in hospitals. 

O, the stories I could tell you of the hardened in vice who have 
been brought to shed their first tears of penitence and sometimes 
to turn to righteous lives, by hearing what was often called the 
heavenly music of those two voices ! To me she was a daughter 
indeed, and the world has no fairer, blissfuller love to show than 
that which may exist between mother and daughter. 


MOTHERDY. 


125 


Your father, too, was a musician, and very naturally he and 
your mother loved each other. He meant to be upright, but — 

I have to write this down, too ! He was overcome by strong 
drink, which robbed him of all that was noble and good, broke 
the heart of his young wife, and left you a precious legacy to 
grandmother. 

And now, dear, just a word more. Let no discouragement ever 
tempt you to any loss of self-respect. We have had many sor- 
rows, but, my child, I would not have you hang your head or 
blush before any one. Remember that the blessed Master Him- 
self was “a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.” 

Cultivate the brightness and cheer of your natural disposition. 
I think God has some great use for you in the world, and is pre- 
paring ycm for it. Look for his leading; do what seems duty, 
no matter where it leads you ; it will never take you away from 
the protection of the Father. 

I write this while we two are living in the attic room, where 
often you are lonesome, and where both of us feel that times are 
hard. But withal we have many precious hours, for we love each 
other dearly, and our hearts are full of hope. Somewhere, my 
dear, God has a mother-heart that will shelter you in its love. 
When it comes to you, be fond and faithful, and the world will 
not be a desolate place to you, even if your very own are all 
gone. I commend you to Him who is a Father to the fatherless, 
and suffers not even a sparrow to fall without His notice. 

Your Own Loving Grandmother. 

With one hand Mrs. Wiswell removed her spec- 
tacles and, as well as she could, refolded the paper 
from which she had been reading, and laid them 
on a table beside her; then very gently adjusted 
Corinne to a restful posture for continuing the 
sweet sleep into which she had fallen. 

As one whom her mother comforteth, Corinne 
slept, and Mrs. Wiswell, in the quiet thought of 


126 


MOTHERDY. 


her own duty in guiding this bundle of nerves and 
sensibilities, this offspring of two whose organiza- 
tions had made it so easy for one to be led away 
from the path of right,- and so impossible for the 
other to meet and surmount any injustice or disap- 
pointment from one she loved. 

It came as the voice of God to her soul : 
‘‘Watch her tendencies; hedge her about with 
all healthful influences ; see to it that she is occu- 
pied in elevating thoughts and pursuits ; cultivate 
straight-forward, common-sense ways of action in 
this mercurial, poetic morsel of humanity. So it 
may be, with her powers regulated, her forces util- 
ized, she will become a blessing to many.’’ 

Presently the child opened her eyes and slowly 
looked around, as if taking in anew the thought of 
her happy surroundings. She smiled tenderly, 
and pressing both her palms on Mrs. Wiswell’s 
cheeks, kissed her lips cordially, saying, “ When- 
ever I sleep and waken, it seems like I’m new, and 
everything’s new and just starting.” 

The two continued their talk awhile, after Mrs. 
Wiswell had told Corinne such parts of grand- 
mother’s story as cheered her and made the fu- 
ture look bright to her. The sun suddenly shone 
out, sending a golden stream that, in its passage 
through the room, filled a cage in which a mock- 
ing-bird had been sitting and blinking dismally. 
Now he lifted himself, gave two or three low 


MOTHERDY. 


127 


whistles, and then poured forth his song in melo- 
dious variations. 

Corinne, who had just been finding a little 
amusement for herself and Mrs. Wiswell in tanta- 
lizing a sleepy Tabby who, because of his late 
hours the previous night, was courting late slum- 
bers this morning — Corinne, as if electrified by 
the notes of the bird, raised herself to tiptoe, her 
face aglow, and listened with keen delight. 

In an interim, while the bird seemed to be rest- 
ing his throat, she said, O, motherdy ! I want to 
tell you something. You remember you sent me 
to Miss Strong’s room yesterday with that note.?” 

‘‘Yes, dear.” 

“Well, I had to wait while she read the note, 
and the other young lady was playing on the piano.” 

Mrs. Wiswell smiled attentively. 

“ And it was so sweet and so beautiful that I 
forgot about the note, and stood there until she 
finished the piece, and then she asked me if she 
should play more for me. I was frightened because 
I’d been so long about the note.” 

“I don’t want you to feel frightened, dear, about 
such a thing.” 

“Well, I thanked her and said I couldn’t stay 
longer. She then said I might come again some- 
time and she would play for me.” 

“ That is pleasant ; and you may go again and 
not have anything to feel hurried about.” 


128 


MOTHERDY. 


‘‘It seems like it might be heaven here/' And 
Corinne’s face for the moment looked as if it were 
that of a mature woman, so deeply do intense feel- 
ings impress themselves even on childhood. After 
a little pause, the child-look came back, and she 
went on, “Motherdy, do you think Tommy likes 
to be shut up in a cage ? " 

“I think, dear, that Tommy does like his cage, 
because he has never known any other home ; but 
it is not the best way for a bird to live." 

“Can’t we let him out, then, so he can fly about 
free with other birds, and not get lonesome any 
more.^ I’m sure he was lonesome this morning. 
I whistled to him, and he opened his funny eyes 
enough to be sure I wasn’t a bird, and then shut 
them as tight as he could, just like he wanted to 
keep me out of his sight.’’ 

“ Corinne dear, I should never put a bird in a 
cage if I thought it could take care of itself if set 
free. I could never find pleasure in even the 
sweet songs of a bird, if I felt that it was kept a 
prisoner ; for God means all His creatures to be 
free.’’ 

“Then, motherdy, why is Tommy shut up all 
the time.^ He flies from one bar to another, and 
acts like he knows he isn’t treated right.’’ 

“ Tommy’s mother and grandmother were always 
kept in cages, and never learned to take care of 
themselves. If I should let him out he would 


MOTHERDY. 1 29 

either freeze or starve, or the first hungry cat that 
spied him would make a meal of him.” 

Where did he come from ? I wish his grand- 
mother had left a little history about his folks, 
rd so much like to pet him, and make him know 
that I love him, and am sorry for him.” 

I can tell you a little history of his folks, as 
you call them,” and Mrs. Wiswelks eyes twinkled 
with admiration at the originality of the child, 
while they were moist at the tenderness of her 
feeling of kinship for the feathered warbler. 

^‘Oh, do!” and taking Tabby in her lap, and 
gently stroking his head, she seated herself on a 
low chair beside Mrs. Wiswell, in an attitude of 
delighted expectancy. 

‘‘Well, once on a time four people, all the best 
of friends toward each other, went on a little voy- 
age together. Two of the party were husband 
and wife, and the other two were winsome young 
girls.” 

“ O, how lovely ! It's like a story-book ! ” 

“It was spring-time when they started; but 
they lived in such a cold part of the country that 
ice and snow were still the fashion.” 

“Was it Greenland, motherdy, or Chicago 
Grandmother has told me that Chicago is as cold 
as Greenland.” 

“It was not Greenland, dear.” 

“Then it must have been Chicago.” 


130 


MOTHERDY. 


‘^Well, they traveled along, and on both sides 
of the river each day the trees looked greener 
and greener, until at last, at the end of a week, 
they had journeyed into midsummer heat and 
bloom.” 

^‘Wasn’t it dear, motherdy, to go to the sum- 
mer.^ I always thought it had to come to us.” 

Mrs. Wiswell, encouraged by her listener’s evi- 
dent pleasure in the story, felt her own interest in 
it increasing. 

“ By and by they came to a strange city, where 
the dead are not buried in the earth, but are placed 
in little houses of brick or stone, built above the 
ground ; where oleanders grow to be trees, and 
magnolias grow in groves.” 

Corinne let the cat slip from her lap, and drew 
her chair so close to Mrs. Wiswell as to lay one 
hand over the other on Mrs. Wiswell’s knee and 
look full into her face, as she drank in her words. 

‘‘Grandmother had a little oleander bush, but 
it froze and died. She told me about magnolia 
flowers, how grand and sweet they are.” 

“But,” continued Mrs. Wiswell, as she gently 
stroked the forehead of her earnest little auditor, 
“there came a day when they must turn their 
faces homeward, and this is where Tommy’s his- 
tory comes in.” 

“ Sure enough ; I forgot you started out to tell 
about him.” 


MOTHERDY. 


I3I 

It was a large steamboat that was to take them 
the most of their way home. O, what a gay place 
the city was ! On the wharf, just before the boat 
was to sail, were people with oranges, bananas, 
lemons, and all manner of tropical fruits, which 
they wanted to sell. Then there were lame and 
disabled sailors, with shells from all parts of the 
world, to tempt your money out of your pocket.'' 
'‘Yes, motherdy; but about Tommy 
"Oh! To be sure. Well, after our travelers 
were snugly settled in their state-rooms, and the 
two jolly girls had laughed until they cried, over 
the gymnastics necessary for the one who should 
occupy the top berth, they all ' went below, ' as 
they say on shipboard, to see what was there ; and 
of all the sights, the one that pleased them most 
was a large room in which were boxes and cages 
full of birds. O, so many kinds I And some just 
hatched out from their shells." 

" How lovely I Was the keeper kind to them ? " 
" Not always kind, I am sorry to say. He 
thought of them only as something with which to 
make money. Well, the two young girls fell in 
love, one with some tiny birds called nonpareils, 
and the other with two scrawny baby mocking- 
birds, and of course they must have them for their 
own. They had the mother of the baby mocking- 
birds on board, and her music was so remarkably 
fine that the young birds brought a good price." 


132 


MOTHERDY. 


‘‘ How could the young birds do without their 
mother ? questioned the odd little girl. 

“ O, they lived well on egg and potato ; and 
really their mother had done as many a mother 
does — left them to the care of others so much 
that they did not know the difference. 

‘‘And now the end of the story is, that the 
young girl who brought up this baby bird, died 
while it was very young, and left it to my care 
when she was called away from earth ; and I feel 
that it is the kindest way to treat it to keep it in 
its cage, and care for it as long as it lives. But 
its song is tinged with sadness, as are the songs 
of all imprisoned and ill-treated creatures. We 
should remember this, and never harm any- 
thing God has made, merely to minister to our 
selfishness.” 

“Wait a minute, please”; and Corinne, as if 
inspired with a sudden impulse, went to a closet 
where she kept her hat, and bringing it to Mrs. 
Wiswell, said: “See this poor little bird! I’ve 
felt dreadfully sorry for it often and often — it 
seems so alive; but I never before thought it was 
wrong for me to wear it. Take it off now, please, 
motherdy; I’ll never walk about feeling proud 
and fine with a murdered bird on my hat ! My 
teacher at the chapel gave me the hat with the 
bird on it ; she used to wear it herself.” 

Mrs. Wiswell complied with the child’s request. 


MOTHERDY. 


133 


handing the very natural and life-like appearing 
Egret to Corinne, while she gave a touch to the 
ribbons that soon made the absence of the bird 
no real loss to the hat. 

Corinne looked earnestly at the poor little sac- 
rifice to female vanity, then went to a luxuriant 
scarlet geranium that stood in the bay window, 
and by means of the thin wire with which the bird 
had been made secure on the hat, perched it quite 
naturally on a branch of the geranium, where, 
among the leaves and the bloom, it had at least 
the semblance of a free life, saying as she did so. 
There, little birdie, fly away whenever you feel 
like it; you belong to yourself, now.’' 

Turning to Mrs. Wiswell, Corinne continued: 
I never saw any bright-colored birds flying about ; 
I’ve only seen them on hats. The little frowzy 
sparrows that I have seen, don’t sing very well. 
They always make me think of a poor organ-man 
who used to sit at our corner and play so screechy 
because his organ was broken.” 

think, dear, we can go next summer to a 
lovely place in the country where the birds will 
waken you early in the morning with their sweet 
songs, and a few of them may whistle you to sleep 
at night.” 

Corinne danced about the room in expression 
of her delight, then said, with serious earnestness. 
Thank you, motherdy ; thank you over and over 


134 


MOTHERDY. 


again ” ; and putting an arm around her neck, kissed 
her cheek gently, adding: ''I don’t wonder any 
more why Tommy stays in a cage; it is the best 
he can do. But I want to help you take care of 
him, may I ? And I’ll never wear a dead bird 
again while I live!” 

^‘Yes, dear; you will help me in everything, 
with your tender, loving heart.” 

Mrs. Wiswell rose and answered a knock at her 
door, to find Margaret Strong, who said, ^‘Excuse 
me, I came to see if I might borrow your little 
girl for awhile.” 

Certainly, and I think she will be quite willing 
to be so loaned.” 

‘^Amy is playing some favorite selections; and 
remembering Corinne’s pleasure in a little music 
yesterday, I thought she would enjoy this.” 

The child looked her pleasure and eagerly gave 
her hand to Margaret, who had already seen the 
rare promise there was in Corinne, and was de- 
lighted to be instrumental in bringing her under 
any influence for true development. 


CHAPTER XI. 


ENTERING INTO LIFE. 


“ What in me is dark, 

Illumine ; what is low, raise and support ; 

That to the height of this great argument, 

I may assert eternal Providence, 

And justify the ways of God to men.” 

— Milton. 

M argaret was conscious of some growth 
in the right direction, though often the old 
habit of murmuring regained ascendancy. She 
listened to Mr. Blanding's sermons and tried to 
believe that if her heart were right, his words would 
convey to her some measure of the spirit and life 
she now so consciously needed. 

Mr. Blanding s thoughts often went back to the 
conversation on that Easter Sunday afternoon, 
and he felt disturbed at what seemed to him 
uncalled-for plainness of speech on the part of his 
friend Stockton, yet he did not find it in his heart 
to really blame him. In preparing his sermons 
now, he frequently found himself considering 
whether what he was disposed to write would be 
of real help to any one. Hitherto the idea of 

135 


136 ENTERING INTO LIFE. 

helpfulness in his sermons had been a matter of 
secondary importance ; beauty of phrase, brilliant 
thoughts, and above all, a fine delivery and dra- 
matic style, were what he had always sought to 
attain. 

He felt himself to be gradually losing relish for 
his accustomed pulpit service, and yet he had not 
awakened to a better. It was not strange, there- 
fore, that a slight feeling of discontent that had 
been haunting him, gradually assumed such pro- 
portions as to make preaching irksome, and the 
effort to prepare sermons a weariness to which 
before he had been a stranger. 

Sooner than either of them had thought, and 
more overwhelming, was the experience about to 
come into his life, which would make the words of 
Margaret, on that day of his vain attempt to com- 
fort her, return to him with a significance that 
rent his soul, and brought him at last face to face 
with the only true source of consolation. 

Accurate and undeviating as is the habit of 
Nature, she nevertheless sometimes seems to 
amuse herself with indulging a fancy, and produc- 
ing an effect wholly the reverse of what the cause 
appeared to promise. In accounting for this, as 
manifested in human life, it has been set down as 
a proof of the theory that, binding as are the laws 
of heredity, and powerful as is the influence of 
ancestry, there exists in every living being an ele- 


ENTERING INTO LIFE. 


137 


ment of individuality superior to the laws of hered- 
ity, and known in human nature as personality. 

Portia Virgilia, the only child of Mr. Blanding, 
was a notable illustration of this escape from the 
almost fatalism of that so often inexorable power, 
the conservation of heredity. 

From the first, Portia gave evidence of possess- 
ing the elements of a fine character, and as she 
grew into girlhood her relish for noble and pure 
sentiments proved the genuineness of her early 
promise. 

When her grandmother Blanding, with com- 
placence peculiar to her, had her named Portia 
Virgilia, she said, with what she regarded as a 
conclusive verdict : ‘^We shall realize in this 
child the hope so long deferred ; she will be a 
second Rachel, and I shall die happy, knowing 
that I have at last furnished the Drama a star of 
the first magnitude, though in myself, I have had 
to bear life-long disappointment in never having 
been permitted to show the world my own dra- 
matic power.'’ 

In Portia's education, care was taken to prepare 
her for what seemed the foregone conclusion so 
confidently trusted in by her grandmother, and 
more mildly 'shared by the child’s father and 
mother. But Ruskin would have delighted in her 
as an example of his theory concerning girls. Let 
loose in the library, or at the mercy of tutors, and 


138 ENTERING INTO LIFE. 

in society and the world generally, this child knew 
what was good for her, as a fawn let loose in a 
field will discriminate unerringly, leaving the bad 
weeds, though now and then, maybe, nipping some 
bitter or prickly ones, good for it, but which you 
would have thought anything but well. 

The only child and the pride of the household, 
Portia came also to be its idol ; a companion for 
her father, an ornament for her mother and grand- 
mother, and an oracle in the home. When, there- 
fore, she was suddenly prostrated by a serious 
malady, consternation took possession of all in the 
home. And through anxious days, hope and fear 
alternately held every heart. 

There came a time when hope yielded, every 
indication pointing to a fatal termination of the 
disease. The windows were darkened, every step 
was muffled, and throughout the entire household 
the one prevailing thought was of the stricken, 
suffering child. Eminent physicians attended her. 
The mother and grandmother were carried from 
the room, the one swooning and with grief uncon- 
trolled, the other in a protracted delirium. 

Portia’s intervals of unconsciousness had in 
them a mite of comfort for her father, as he 
patiently watched hour after hour by her bedside. 
He thought she was thus spared some of the 
acuteness of pain. 

The physicians gave no hope of recovery. As 


ENTERING INTO LIFE. 


139 


Mr. Blanding gazed upon his child’s face, the 
yearnings of his soul brought into his own face a 
look that appealed mutely and with touching elo- 
quence to those who observed him. 

Portia had lain now for hours in something like 
a sleep, but not with sleep’s restfulness. The 
precious little hand that seemed involuntarily to 
press the forehead of its owner, now clutched 
almost convulsively at the bed covering, and would 
not be held, even in the sacred pressure of that of 
her father. His eyes were dry, as if the fountain 
of his tears was seethed to emptiness. There was 
no light in his face, and his husky voice told of 
the burning agony within. 

Suddenly a tremor passed through the frame of 
the then otherwise quiet sufferer. Her lips moved, 
as if in whisper to some object well observed by 
her. She opened her eyes, and the quick eyes of 
the doctor and the nurse, and the heart of the 
father, saw that a change had come. A smile on 
her face, accompanied by slight vocalization, caused 
those present to observe closely what might be 
the next manifestation. 

Turning her head so that she could look full 
into her father’s face, she said sweetly and ration- 
ally : Papa, I will not forget you ; your little Portia 
will come back sometimes, and even if you don’t 
see me. I’ll be very near you. And I’ll love you 
all the same.” 


140 


ENTERING INTO LIFE. 


‘^You must not leave me at all; I cannot live 
without my little girl.” 

Mr. Blanding s look of appeal to the physician 
smote the tender heart of him who aimed to be 
something more than a mere healer of diseased 
bodies. 

The nurse indicated that she would like the 
place at the bedside where Mr. Blanding sat, and 
the doctor, taking his arm, led him into an adjoin- 
ing room. 

‘^My friend,” he said, ‘‘we must prepare our- 
selves for the worst. Your darling child will soon 
be with the angels.” 

“ O, God ! doctor, is there no hope ? What is 
medical skill worth, if it cannot save those we love 
from the cruel monster of death ? ” 

“ My dear friend, doctors themselves are in the 
hands of a higher power ; there are times when all 
remedies must fail.” 

“ Of what avail are prayers and vows to God ? 
How can it seem well to Him to crush out this 
beautiful life ? ” And then, through weakness from 
watching and suffering, the stricken father stag- 
gered toward a lounge and sank upon it in despair. 

The doctor seated himself near, his manner 
evincing profound sympathy. “My friend,” he 
said, after a slight pause, “I think it rather the 
unfolding of a more beautiful life, the welcoming 
of a redeemed soul into a higher existence.” And 


ENTERING INTO LIFE. I4I 

continuing slowly and tenderly, he asked, Is 
there any one you would especially like to see just 
now, or would like to have with Portia ? ” 

Mr. Blanding felt himself unable to think very 
clearly, and his answer was in a tone of hopeless- 
ness. ‘^Yes; send for Wordsworth Kingsly ; he 
always knows what to do and what to say/’ And 
the doctor went to dispatch a messenger to him. 
When he returned, Mr. Blanding asked, ‘‘ Doctor, 
how is my wife ? ” 

‘‘ She is better, but must be kept from all excite- 
ment. She would not know you nor Portia now ; 
rest is her only safety.” 

‘^And mother, can’t she come.^” 

^‘Your mother is prostrated, and begs to be 
spared anything that will tax her nerves. It is 
better, far better, to let them remain with their 
nurses for the present.” 

Another pause, and Mr. Blanding, hearing the 
voice of his child, started eagerly; she asked for 
her mother, but seemed content when told she 
was resting. 

The doctor quietly stepped between Mr. Bland- 
ing and the door leading into the room whence 
the sounds came. Be strong and brave, my dear 
friend ; her only care now is for those who weep 
for her. She is very near the home where suffer- 
ing cannot come.” 

As the two stood listening for some sound that 


142 


ENTERING INTO LIFE. 


might indicate that they were needed, a door 
from the hall was opened, and Wordsworth Kingsly 
entered. 

He grasped the hand that was extended by Mr. 
Blanding. Neither spoke, but the silence, the 
hush of the whole house, the tears in the eyes of 
the man at the door, told Mr. Kingsly that the lull 
which comes when service is no longer needed, 
had cast its pall of paralyzing gloom over this 
hitherto gladsome home. 

'‘Help me, Kingsly, if you can; my heart is 
broken!” The pleading look and the voice so 
hollow, were more eloquent than his spoken words. 

The nurse came and said, " She asks for her 
father,” and all went into the room where was be- 
ing enacted that mystery of mysteries — the sepa- 
rating of soul and body. 

Very noticable indeed was the change that had 
come since the doctor and Mr. Blanding had left 
her. The expression of her countenance showed 
how real was the restfulness of peace within. 

Mr. Blanding resumed the seat he had but lately 
left, and Portia, with a smile full of pity, received 
his proffered hand into both of hers. 

"Papa, I am soon going where I can see Jesus 
as I see you now, and where I can hear his voice 
answer me when I talk to him.” 

" My angel child I ” 

"What shall I tell him for you, papa.*^” 


ENTERING INTO LIFE. 


143 


He groaned aloud, and withdrawing his hand 
from hers, beckoned to Mr. Kingsly to exchange 
places with him. 

‘‘ Tm so glad, Mr. Kingsly ; you’ve come to tell 
me good-by, haven’t you 

Yes, dear; and I am glad to find you so well 
and happy.” 

‘‘Oh! I’m very well now; the sickness is all 
gone, and I’m going to be with Jesus.” 

Her eyes closed for a moment, and when she 
opened them again her gaze was toward what was 
only vacancy to the others. Pointing, she said : 
“There, O, how beautiful! Hear them! O, so 
sweet ! Shall I give your love to Jesus, nursie.^” 
turning toward her. 

“Yes, dear; and tell Him to keep our little 
Portia for us,” replied the nurse with the tender- 
ness and self-control known to so many of her 
class. 

Mr. Kingsly gently passed his hand across her 
brow and noticed the death moisture upon it. 
“We shall come, after a little, my dear,” he said 
as he bent over her ; “Jesus has not called for us 
yet.” 

“What must I tell Him for you.^” came slowly 
and in broken tones. 

“Tell Him I am trying to do the best I can to 
get people to love Him.” 

A tremulous wave passed through the little 


144 


ENTERING INTO LIFE. 


hand that lay in his ; there was quick and labored 
breathing ; the eyes were turned upward with a 
look of radiant admiration ; then perfect quiet 
came to the little body, and Mr. Blanding was 
childless. 

After a moment, Mr. Kingsly reverently laid 
the two dainty hands together, and going to Mr. 
Blanding, put his arm about him, and the two left 
the room. 

The doctor came and rested his hand for a mo- 
ment over the little heart whose beatings were all 
over, looked into the peaceful face, and pressed 
his handkerchief to his eyes. The nurse gave way 
to her pent-up tears. Quietly, and with sincere 
grief, the servants came as the word reached them, 
and took a hasty look at what now seemed the 
sleeping child. 

The stricken father allowed his friend to place 
him on an easy couch, adjust a pillow to his almost 
crazed head, and so seat himself that the two were 
face to face. Neither spoke for a moment; even 
the ticking of the Ormolu clock on the mantel 
sounded impertinent and harsh to ears that had 
been so attent and to nerves that were so alive. 

Mr. Blanding broke the silence : ‘‘ O, Kingsly ! 
what is this for ? What can God mean by this 
dreadful, unexpected blow ? '' 

‘^Be sure He means well, my dear friend. He 
doth not afflict willingly.” 


ENTERING INTO LIFE. 


145 


Mr. Blanding raised himself nervously to a sit- 
ting posture and wrung his hands, seeking some 
outlet for his intense emotion. ‘‘That precious 
child ! She held in her my very existence. I can 
never endure life without her. She had come to 
be my companion in everything. I can now see 
that she had felt for some time that she was to 
leave me.’' 

“ The change for her is a glorious one ; we may 
rejoice for her while we weep for ourselves, Mr. 
Blanding.” 

“ She was happy here. Her life went by as a 
joyous bird’s. Never a cloud nor anything to mar 
the loveliness of her character or her life. Oh, 
God ! If I could only call her back ! ” 

“But, my friend, we have the assurance of 
going where she is.” 

A groan was the only answer for awhile, and 
then he broke forth : “ O, Kingsly ! That child 
had, as you have, an assurance of things hoped 
for, to which I am a stranger. For a good while 
I have had the feeling that I lack something. I 
am afraid I lack the one thing needful to be a 
Christian.” 

His friend quietly responded, “We must realize 
the fact that we grow spiritually only by keeping 
in the way of growth.” 

“Why, my own sermons were not what she 
wanted. She has more than once said to me, 


146 


ENTERING INTO LIFE. 


‘Papa, I wish you would talk to us about God as 
our Father, and about heaven as a dear home, and 
about death as the opening of the door into heaven, 
where we shall never see any more sad or bad peo- 
ple, but always see God and good people,*'* 

Mr. Kingsly glanced at the clock as he said : 
“And a little child shall lead them. Except ye 
become as little children, ye shall not see the 
kingdom of Heaven.** 

“ Don't go, Kingsly, don't go ; I can’t stay alone 
a moment ; you are the only one that seems to 
understand me." 

“ I am glad to be of any help to you. Perhaps 
there are some things you would like to say ; some- 
thing you would like done." 

“ O, yes, yes ; my poor wife doesn't understand ! 
I could never tell her of the ache and hunger in 
my heart ; she would not know what I meant. 
I know now something of the meaning of the words 
‘ye must be born again*. Portia knew all about 
this, and if she had lived she would have been the 
angel to lead me into the light in which she walked 
continually." 

“No one ever yet yearned in vain for the true 
light, dear Mr. Plan ding." 

“ I want you to talk a little, not preach, when 
she is laid away; I’m weary of the word ‘preach*, 
it seems so empty. Oh, can it be that she must 
be shut away forever from my sight 


ENTERING INTO LIFE. 


147 


^'Forever does not belong there, my dear friend. 
This separation is but for a little while, as com- 
pared with the forever in which she and you may 
together serve Him who has brought life and im- 
mortality to light.'' 

can see that for her, but for such as I am, 
immortality seems but a mockery. I have been a 
fraud, Kingsly, a fraud ; I have only played the 
part of a guide-board, pointing others to the way 
of life, but making no advance toward it myself. 
Portia, my good angel ! It never occurred to me 
that I might lose you ! " And he lay back on his 
pillow like one from whom all power was gone. 

Mr. Kingsly, too, was quiet, knowing that it 
would require time to bring healing to his smitten 
friend, and knowing, as well, that he was growing 
toward the light and support for which his soul 
had begun to yearn. And prayer went up from 
one that only God heard, for wisdom to say and to 
do just the things of which the other was so much 
in need. 

It was late in the evening before Mr. Blanding 
would consent to be left without Mr. Kingsly. 
‘‘I shall die, if I haven't some one like you with 
me," he said, as the latter seemed again about to 

go- 

The two continued to talk at intervals. The 
servant had come in and lighted the lamps. The 
doctor came, and before leaving, said a few words, 


148 


ENTERING INTO LIFE. 


promising to return later. Then Mr. Blanding, 
after one of the silent intervals, went into his 
study and returned with a sealed note in his hand. 
‘‘ I did not dream what it meant when she said, 

‘ Read this, papa, when you can’t speak to me ’. 
How dumb and blind I have been! It was the 
day before she was taken ill ; she came and stood 
by me with her arm about my neck, as she often 
did. Waiting for me to pause in my work, she 
did not speak. I recall now, how the brilliancy 
of her face and the intensity of her manner 
impressed me, as I looked up at her. But she 
was always superhuman in my eyes, and my heart 
only thrilled a little more than usual at her pres- 
ence ; I soon forgot the impression of the moment. 
Oh ! The blankness of life, the unendurableness 
of it, Avithout my precious child, my guardian 
angel ! ” 

He threw himself into a chair near a light, and 
his hands shook violently as he opened the note. 
It told him that she believed she was to be taken 
away soon, and begged him not to be sorry about 
it ; but to think how glad he would be to find her 
ready to welcome him when he came. 

After reading the note, he gave it to Mr. Kingsly, 
saying, Read this ; it will help you to understand 
her, and to pity me,” and nervously and unsteadily 
he paced the floor, while his friend read. 

There were tears in his eyes, as he folded and 


ENTERING INTO LIFE. 


149 


returned the note. ‘‘ She was a rare child, but be 
assured my pity requires no stimulus; I need not 
say my heart goes out in great tenderness to you.'' 

Leaving Mr. Blanding with friends who had 
hastened to offer any possible comfort or assist- 
ance, Mr. Kingsly took his leave, after promising 
to come in the morning, and to comply with the 
request to talk a little at the funeral. 

The days had drawn their weary length, and 
the last sad service was at hand. A single bunch 
of immortelles, sent by Margaret Strong, lay on 
the casket containing all that remained of Portia 
Blanding. 

Out of respect for her father's wishes, only a 
very few friends gathered in the home ; Margaret 
was not one of them. 

Mr. Kingsly stood near the head of the casket. 
For a moment he looked upon the face so beauti- 
ful even there, then, resting his left hand in his 
right in a firm grasp, as if to nerve himself, and 
pausing in evident effort to be sure of self-com- 
mand, he repeated : 

^‘Behold I show you a mystery; this corrupti- 
ble must put on incorruption, and this mortal 
must put on immortality. Then shall be brought 
to pass the saying that is written, ‘death is swal- 
lowed up in victory'. Thanks be to God, Who 
giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus 
Christ." 


ISO 


ENTERING INTO LIFE. 


A brief prayer of thanksgiving followed for such 
a life as had just received so true an unfolding in 
the giving up of the earthly body now no longer 
needed ; with petitions for grace for those who 
wept for the absent one, and for the gift of pure 
hearts for all, that God might be seen in every- 
thing. 

Then a few remarks concerning child-faith and 
religion : It is not for children to attain to a 
mature understanding of the plan of salvation or 
a grasp of faith that is possible for adults. But 
the Holy Spirit often comes with peculiar tender- 
ness and power into the hearts of very young 
children. So sweet and gradual is this influence 
of the Spirit upon a pure young soul that the time 
of its earliest dawning cannot always be discerned. 
Thus, coming as the wind blowing where it listeth, 
it may give no hint as to the precise time of the 
new birth. ‘The gospel is an oratorio of triumph 
over death, from beginning to end.' Shall we not 
then realize that it is a festival of life we are keep- 
ing to-day, and say with another : 


‘ Death is a mood of life ; it is no whim 

By which life’s Giver mocks a broken heart ; 
Death is life’s reticence, still audible to Him ; 
The hushed voice happy, speaketh on apart.’”' 


It was many weeks before Mr. Blanding again 
stood in his pulpit. It is perhaps truth to say 


ENTERING INTO LIFE. I5I 

that never did the Mr. Blanding who had held forth 
from it so complacently, speak from it again. It 
was hard to realize that the weary, sunken face, 
languidly-moving figure, hair streaked with gray, 
and absorbed manner of him who stood there now, 
belonged to him who, until so lately, was a stran- 
ger to any such conditions. 

He stood before his audience without book or 
note. His words came in an earnest, sententious 
manner, unlike the flowing, lightsome way hereto- 
fore his style: ^‘Friends, I appear before you for 
the first time with a realizing sense of what it 
means to be a minister of the Gospel of Christ. 

I am one of those whom Milton described as 
‘intruding themselves into the fold'; I have not 
fed you with the bread of life, and my own soul 
has been starving. ‘He that watereth shall be 
watered himself.' I have failed in this duty 
toward you, and my soul is withered. God has 
opened my eyes at last, and with his help, I mean 
to be at least honest with myself and you ; I have 
been but masquerading in the cast-off garments of 
dead thinkers. 

“My theme henceforth shall be the living God. 
I have been kneeling by the muddy streams of life 
for comfort ; but I have now come to the fountain 
of living waters, and am conscious of the fact that 
a Christian ministry means a cure or care of 
souls." 


ENTERING INTO LIFE. 


152 

The congregation into whose faces Mr. Bland- 
ing looked, furnished a fine example of the power 
of true eloquence. The unquestioned sincerity 
with which he gave utterance to his deep convic- 
tions and the self-control he displayed in keeping 
in check his intense emotion, touched every one. 

After the service, Mr. Stockton waited at the 
side entrance until Mr. Blanding came out, and 
arm in arm they walked for some time in silence. 

‘‘ Mr. Blanding, that was sublime courage ! A 
man might face a blazing cannon's mouth a score 
of times without a tithe of the courage you mani- 
fested this morning." 

I were a coward not to have spoken as I did. 
I am a free man now — free in the truth, though 
it came through the breaking of my heart. O, 
my friend, be thankful you have not a nature that 
requires to be brought to the veriest depths before 
you learn the meaning of life ! " 


CHAPTER XII. 


HEIGHTS AND DEPTHS. 


Before man made us citizens, great Nature made us men.” 

B elieving in the dignity of the human 
body as the temple of the Holy Spirit, Mr. 
Kingsly was alert to observe strictly the laws of 
physical health. It was during his long walks that 
much of his sturdy thinking was done. And since 
we know that an ardent altruism predominated in 
his meditations, we take no undue liberty in observ- 
ing some of the actions of his mind. 

“This vibrating age, with the thunder of revo- 
lution and the dreams of Utopia, between which 
our own and other lands seem in danger of fall- 
ing, demands heroic action. It is a time for clear 
vision and steady nerve. The mutterings of the 
discontented thousands who threaten destruction 
in the name of equality, the crying of hungry 
children, the wailing of suffering women ; these 
things have a meaning, and no one can safely be 
blind to their alarm. 

“Shall the church of the redeemed walk with 

153 


154 


HEIGHTS AND DEPTHS. 


averted face and carefully-lifted skirts when these 
hands of menace and appeal are outstretched.^ 
When the people cry for bread, woe to him who 
offers them a serpent ! Let religion aspire toward 
the highest heaven, she yet must have her feet on 
the earth, if she will take the hand of the fallen, 
and come heart to heart with them. The process of 
uplifting may be slow, but justice and mercy shall 
yet have their perfect marriage, though we wait 
long for the cry, ‘the bridegroom cometh'. 

“DTsraeli's words are for to-day, ‘Power is 
neither the scepter nor the sword, for these pass 
away — but ideas, which are divine The estab- 
lishment of the equality of man can only be accom- 
plished by the sovereignty of God. Who is suf- 
ficient for these things ? One thing is sure — the 
faithful discharge of the duty at hand throws the 
best light on what awaits to be done. And the 
greatest heroes are those who do their best, with- 
out the stimulus of the world’s admiration and 
applause.” 

Mr. Kingsly’s mind reverted to two paragraphs 
he had read in the morning newspaper. One in 
the society column : “ Mr. and Mrs. Smalley enter- 
tained their friends last evening at their residence 
on Marston Avenue. The brilliancy of decoration 
and costumes was dazzling. The floral arrange- 
ments were such as to make it difficult not to 
believe that the scene was in the tropics ; while 


HEIGHTS AND DEPTHS. 1 55 

the menu met the requirements of the most fas- 
tidious taste.'’ 

In another column he had read: ^‘Died from 
starvation — a family of four; mother and three 
children/’ The tenement in which this tragedy 
was enacted was not very far beyond the reach of 
the music to whose measure the guests at the 
reception had ‘‘so gracefully glided in the fascina- 
tions of the dance." 

To Mr. Kingsly's mind, as he recalled those 
two paragraphs, there came the quaint, sarcastic 
lines : 

“All crimes are safe but hated poverty — 

This, only this, the rigid law pursues,’^ 


Not that he agreed with the sentiment, but he 
could not help the flitting thought at the moment. 
He well knew that the entertainment whose clar- 
ion praise he had read, had not in its whole plan 
and execution one grain of the spirit of true hos- 
pitality, without which so-called entertaining is a 
miserable, unblessed and unblessing mockery. 

“I am in need again, you see," was his greet- 
ing to Mr. Hale, as, later in the morning, he en- 
tered the law office of that gentleman. 

“Which means gain to me," was the cordial 
reply. “I should seldom have the pleasure of 
your presence here if you did not need to come, I 
am afraid. You will allow me to wager, though, 


156 


HEIGHTS AND DEPTHS. 


that the need is not your own. What poor rascal 
are you aiding now, Mr. Kingsly.^'’ 

The latter made his business known, and re- 
ceived the advice sought. Mr. Hale was one of 
those in his profession who felt that he rendered 
divine service when he used his knowledge of the 
law to advance justice and right. 

‘^Well, how is the world, Mr. Hale.^'’ 

Mr. Kingsly took the attitude of a listener who 
feels sure of being interested. 

‘‘Growing rather better, on the whole, I think.’' 

“Produce some of the evidence,” was Mr. 
Kingsly’s reply, an amused expression passing 
over his face. 

“ People are learning better how to live. Women 
are coming to take their God-intended place in 
the world’s work. The greatest educators real- 
ize the vanity of all learning that has not Christ 
for its foundation.” 

“Good! Goon.” 

“The poor man never had so good a chance 
and so many comforts as to-day.” 

“ But the poor man is so much more of a man 
by his education, that he wants more than ever 
before. Is he better contented than in the past .?” 

“Yes; because he has more hope, and more 
reason for hope.” 

“What about such contrasts as these, that are 
so glibly and threateningly hurled at the rich by 


HEIGHTS AND DEPTHS. 


157 


the so-called ^ poor laborer ' : Brown-stone man- 
sions, Queen Anne villas, gaudy club-houses, and 
gorgeous theatres, alongside of vile hovels, filthy 
tenements, beggarly alms-houses and jails — the 
former for you, the latter for us. In the courts, 
one interpretation of the law for the rich, another 
for the poor.'’ 

Strong argument, and partly true ; but I re- 
peat, the world is growing better. Caste barriers 
are not so mighty as once they were ; men are grow- 
ing kindlier, savage as they still are; justice and 
mercy are more allied." 

I like your attitude ; I agree with you, but the 
adverse side will clamor for attention. I get 
strength for the present struggle sometimes by 
taking a long look backward and forward. In 
such views, one is steadied by overwhelming evi- 
dence, which proves that the changing scenes, the 
mad onrush, and the weary drag of social life from 
first to last is under the control of an eternal and 
beneficent law." 

Taking a book from a shelf, Mr. Hale said, as 
he brushed the dust from it : Let me refresh 
your memory and my own by a racy paragraph 
from Herbert Spencer, 'As from articulate sounds 
came speech ; as out of rude hieroglyphics came 
writing and the art of printing ; as from counting 
on our fingers we advanced to the most abstruse 
calculations of stellar distances and revolutions ; 


158 


HEIGHTS AND DEPTHS. 


as from building rude habitations in the woods we 
gradually improved, until the massive cathedral 
was thought out and erected ; as from harsh, dis- 
cordant war songs we ascend to symphonies, 
oratorios and sonatas ; so out of the rude impul- 
siveness of the first association of man and man, 
came by slow degrees the refinements of our mod- 
ern social life, and likewise the subtle and complex 
questions of social relationship, which absorb the 
busy brain of our civilization’.” 

‘‘That is a peerless expression of what I hinted 
at by a long look backward. The forward sweep 
of vision is, of the two, however, the more impor- 
tant ; as much so as faith is superior to sight. It 
is the difference between sense and spirit.” 

Mr. Hale looked his approval, as he replaced 
the book in its niche. 

After further talk, Mr. Kingsly said, as he rose 
to go : “I must be off again ; you and I both have 
too much work to do to sit philosophizing at midday. 
Put on your hat and come with me for an hour, 
can’t you ? ” 

Glancing at his watch, Mr. Hale assented. 
They walked through a thronged and busy street, 
where fortunes are often made and lost on paper 
in less time than it takes to tell of it. Leaving 
the street, they followed for a little while one nar- 
rower and less inviting, and presently turned into 
a stifling sort of court- — forbidding and gloomy. 


HEIGHTS AND DEPTHS. 


159 


A mouldy odor was rising from a pavement that 
sunshine had never lit up with its own gladness. 

From a door that stood open, as if to be always 
ready for the going and coming of the inmates who 
were herded here, and from which it was the only 
exit, a queer-looking figure came shuffling out. 
His features were compressed and wrinkled, his 
weary eyes sunken and fixed on the ground, his 
lips working in thought. He carried a basket, 
and moved as one intent on some errand. 

^‘See that ! said Mr. Kingsly under his breath. 
He is the very one I brought you to see.'’ 

‘‘ What of him — you have seen him before ? ” 

‘‘O, he is an old friend of rnine, Mr. Hale. 
We will go in, and you shall learn his history from 
his own lips.” 

The two men entered the open door, Mr. Kingsly 
leading the way. They mounted three flights of 
grimy stairs, and turned into a small, close room. 
On a table a lamp threw a circle of light near it, 
leaving the other part of the room in shade. From 
the corner near the table came sounds of human 
tones that were familiar to Mr. Kingsly. It was 
the plaintive voice of a woman, but the words were 
those one might expect from a child. ‘‘Come 
now, Sammy; I’m so hungry!” 

A “Good-morning, Hilda,” from Mr. Kingsly, 
caused the figure in the bed to lie still for a 
moment, and peer into the shadow as if in alarm. 


l6o HEIGHTS AND DEPTHS. 

He approached into the light, and at full sight of 
him, her face assumed its nearest possible approach 
to tranquility. 

How do you do to-day, Hilda ? ” he asked. 

I’m well ; I know I could take care of the 
children, and I’m sure they’re crying for me ; but 
Sammy says I’m not well enough yet. O, me ! 
O, me ! ” 

What makes you stay here in the dark, Hilda ? 
The other room is more cheerful.” 

‘Ht’s too light there; and I can’t sleep. Sam- 
my’s scissors and thimble make such a racket. 
Where’s he now ? O, I’m so hungry ! and he’ll 
never come.” 

The weird figure they had seen in the court 
shambled in just then, spoke in a dejected, though 
kindly way, to Mr. Kingsly, and proceeded to place 
on the table by the bedside of the woman some 
food, to which she began eagerly to help herself. 

Leaving her to the enjoyment of satisfying an 
appetite that was made morbid and imperative by 
her peculiar affliction, Mr. Kingsly took Sammy 
by the sleeve of his blouse, and leading him to- 
ward Mr. Hale, introduced him. ‘H want you to 
know Sammy, Mr. Hale ; he is as true a hero as 
ever fought the battle of life.” 

Mr. Hale extended a hand to the man, who re- 
ceived his friendly grasp with little return ; evi- 
dently not from lack of kind feeling, but lack of 


HEIGHTS AND DEPTHS. l6l 

spirit, for long isolation from his kind had rendered 
him incapable of practising the usages of even the 
rude politeness with which he might once have 
been familiar. 

‘‘Sit down here, Sammy, and tell this good 
friend something of your life. It will do you both 
good ; I will inquire after Hilda.'' And he left 
them, and sat near to Hilda’s bedside. 

“ Has he told ye 'bout me ? " began Sammy, as 
he seated himself, the pucker of his button-hole 
mouth relaxing a little. 

“Not a word. I didn't know there was such a 
man as you until I saw you just now." 

“He's a fine man, and he's the one that makes 
me a man now," said the marred specimen of 
humanity. 

“ How long have you been living in this way 

“Two years come January, sir. It was New 
Year's night when it happened. It had been com- 
ing on for a good while. I thought I could stop 
anytime, but — I couldn’t. Must I go on.^ It’s 
a bad story I’ve got to tell." 

“Yes; let me hear it, Sammy. You evidently 
are not bad now, and I like to hear how one can 
break away from a wrong life." 

“ Hilda was as good a girl as ever left her mother 
for the sake of bein' a wife. I turned a brute to 
her. I must tell it my own way, sir." 

“ How long since you married her ? " 


1 62 HEIGHTS AND DEPTHS. 

‘‘Seven years, sir; and she was a rosy-cheeked 
girl, and I was an honest, hard-workin’ young man, 
and we loved one another well, sir. She found 
out I was a-drinkin’, and tried to bring me right, 
but not her, nor the two little girls that was born 
to us, nor anything else could keep me straight. 
Drink made a devil of me at last, sent the babies 
to their graves, and made her” — pointing to his 
wife — “the broke-down woman she is. Well, I 
went from bad to worse, 'till one night I come 
home with my brain afire. I remember that, sir, 
and how sad and hungry Hilda was lookin’, and it 
made me furious, for I knew it was all my doin’s. 
The children was sick, she said, but it seemed to 
me they was only cross, and their cryin’ wouldn’t 
let me sleep. So I beat ’em ! Oh, God ! I beat 
’em, and when she begged me to stop, I knocked 
her to the floor and stamped her with my foot.” 

But for the unmistakable impress of grief and 
remorse the man bore, Mr. Hale could not have 
listened to his recital. 

“ I went to sleep then, and the next thing I 
knowed, he” — pointing to Mr. Kingsly — “was 
pullin’ me by the sleeve and tryin’ to wake me. 
They say I’d been in that dead sleep for hours. 
I can hear him now, ‘Get up, you fellow, there’s 
something better for you to do than this.’ I was 
scared, and anyhow, it wouldn’t be easy to say no 
to him. 


HEIGHTS AND DEPTHS. 


163 


Where’s my wife.^’ I said, and he asked me 
what I wanted to know for. I told him I thought 
she was hungry ; and, sir, if a guilty conscience 
could ever kill a man, mine would a done it then. 
I shook from head to foot, I did, and he kept look- 
in’ at me with his great eyes' that hold on tight 
when he’s a-searchin’ out a thing. 

knowed he seen right through me, and I 
begun to beg for pity. He said, ^ Go with me,’ 
and we went into the other room. Side by side 
on their little bed lay the children. Still as the 
grave they was layin’. ^Come close,’ he said, 
‘and touch their baby hands.’ I shook, but I had 
to do what he told me. How I shivered, as I felt 
the coldness of death on the little white hands. 

“‘Are they dead.^^’ I said, and my knees 
knocked together. They died not four hours 
apart, sir, and the coroner said it was from their 
blood, they died. 

“‘Yes,’ he said; ‘they are beyond all harm 
now.’ ‘Where’s Hilda ? ’ I asked, fiercely. ‘ She is 
in a hospital,’ he said. ‘ Can’t I see her ? ’ I asked. 
And he said, ‘Not now.’ 

“After a while they let me see her, but she 
screamed and begged them not to let me come 
nigh her. I didn’t see her no more for weeks. 
Then little by little she come to know I wouldn’t 
hurt her. O, the sorryful way she used to look 
at me ! And to this day, sir, whenever she wakes 


164 


HEIGHTS AND DEPTHS. 


up from sleep, she starts and says, ‘ O, Sammy, 
don’t ! don’t ! they are so sick ! ’ And then she 
begs me to let her take care of the children. The 
doctor says I must put her off by telling her she 
is not well enough yet. He says the blow on her 
head spoilt her memory, so she only remembers 
two or three things. She never talks about any- 
thing but me and the children, sir, and how hun- 
gry she is. I’ll work for her a hundred years, sir, 
but I’ll make her know that I’m kind.” 

‘‘ Do you earn your living and hers at your tai- 
loring work ? ” 

“Yes, sir; I never let another mortal bein’ but 
myself do anything for her. The doctor says she 
ma}^ come to, all of a sudden like, and I want to 
get on my knees to her when she does.” 

Mr. Hale pressed his handkerchief to his eyes, 
as Sammy said in conclusion, “When she comes 
to, and says, ‘ Sammy, I forgive you ’, this old bat- 
tered heart’ll come to life ag’in.” 

Mr. Hale broke the pause that ensued, “ Sam- 
my, you ought to take your wife out of this place 
to where she could have fresh air and sunshine.” 

“O, sir, I couldn’t; I only earn enough to 
keep up, as it is. I never eat a crumb ’till she’s 
got enough, and some days she takes about all I 
can come by.” 

“ There will be a way, Sammy ; you’ll do what- 
ever Mr. Kingsly tells you to, won’t you.^” 


HEIGHTS AND DEPTHS. 


i6s 


‘‘ Certing, sir ; but he knows I couldn’t do that. 
Then the light hurts her ; she ain’t used to it.” 

*^She could get used to it, and it might cure 
her to have such a change.” 

After passing out of the gloomy court, and 
walking some distance together, as the two friends 
parted, Mr. Hale said : My wife will manage it 
all; she is commander-in-chief of my forces for 
good. You see to it that Sammy and his wife 
are willing to be moved, and we will see what the 
change will do for them.” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


SUSPICION. 


The Devil tempts us, when he thrusts sin before us ; but when 
we approach it of our own selves, it is then we who tempt the 
Devil.” — Farrar. 


N that day when Mr. Kingsly introduced his 



friend to Sammy, it came in the course of 
events that Margaret returned to her room, after 
her routine of duties, with a firmer set to her mouth, 
more than a trace of weariness in her eyes, less of 
the rose tint in her cheeks and less of normal elas- 
ticity in her step. 

Mrs. Smalley was one of those to whom she had 
been giving regular instruction, and was counted 
a ‘^charming woman” in society. With some na- 
tures, sweetness and general attractiveness are 
lavishly used in public, while there is correspond- 
ing lack behind the scene of display. To a refined 
nature, it is the moral atmosphere pervading an 
individual or a home that makes the abiding im- 
pression. No amount of politeness or physical 
beauty can veil it in the one ; and artistic adorn- 


1 66 


SUSPICION. 167 

ments and show of hospitality are powerless to 
hide it in the other. 

In Mrs. Smalley, and in the appointments of her 
establishment, existed all material requisites for an 
attractive home, and those slow to discern were 
for a time captivated as they received her ostenta- 
tious entertaining. 

Margaret had noted the glowing account in the 
newspapers of the festivities at the Smalley resi- 
dence, and it had led her thoughts into a channel 
of painful unrest. Memories of the afternoon pre- 
ceding that occasion came more vivid than agree- 
able. In spite of her efforts to avoid it, she lived 
over and over again the events of that afternoon 
when, Mrs. Smalley’s sleep being over, she had 
admitted to her room the hair-dresser ; and also 
Margaret, who might in this case fitly be termed 
the head-dresser ; for there was a rehearsal of quo- 
tations and opinions to store and refresh the men- 
tal part of the hostess, while coils and frizzes were 
evolved for exterior effects. 

It was in the best of harmony with her other 
characteristics that Mrs. Smalley should have the 
conviction that it is unladylike to treat one who 
works for a living with respect and kindness. To 
her this seemed a necessary maintaining of the 
spirit of caste. Character counted for nothing 
with her ; in the scales she used, the side that held 
the silver and gold always weighed heaviest. 


SUSPICION. 


1 68 

Her conscience maintained a serene compla- 
cency concerning the close and unwholesome apart- 
ments assigned to her servants, for did not her 
name appear as a liberal donor in the reports of 
the ‘‘Fresh Air Fund Society” ? 

It is not to be asserted here that they were not 
genuine tears that moistened her dainty handker- 
chief when listening to pathetic recitals of the sad 
estate of the heathen on the other side of the globe, 
or in remote parts of her own land. Truth has it, 
though, that the abject and down-trodden who came 
within her sight, or near enough to be touched by 
her, excited only feelings of disgust. 

To-day she had been unusually disagreeable, and 
Margaret had left her with more of dejection than 
she had ever known before. 

The next time Margaret went to her duties with 
Mrs. Smalley, she was told that the latter was out, 
but desired her to wait a given time for her possi- 
ble return. Alone in Mrs. Smalley’s room, she 
occupied herself with reading. Meanwhile, Mr. 
Smalley was walking nervously to and fro below 
in the library, his visage even more than usually 
hard set. 

Presently she was aroused by the sound of foot- 
falls approaching in the hall leading to the room 
where she was sitting. A feeling of apprehension 
caused her to rise and turn her gaze toward the 
door, and at the same moment Mr. Smalley ap- 


SUSPICION. 


169 


peared hesitatingly on the threshold and then 
entered. He seemed surprised at seeing Margaret, 
who returned his passing recognition with reserved 
dignity. He appeared to search for something hast- 
ily, and, not finding it, retired as he had entered. 

Margaret continued standing until the last trace 
of his receding foot-steps was lost to her intensi- 
fied hearing. A look of distress came into her 
face, and a heavy sigh escaped her as she resumed 
her seat. The volume remained closed now in 
her firm grasp, and she sat for a while in deep and 
perplexed thought. 

Gradually her face lighted up as if by some 
mental clearing. She seated herself at Mrs. 
Smalley's desk and wrote slowly and with evident 
care, a note, which she addressed to that lady, and 
leaving it on the desk, soon gladly left the house 
that she felt was a place of danger to her. 

As the door closed after Margaret’s exit, Mr. 
Smalley, who, since his return to the library had 
been sitting with knit brow and hands restlessly 
moving, suddenly rose with the manner of one 
who has solved a perplexing problem. His tell- 
tale face, which assumed no disguise now that he 
was not in the presence of any human eye, would 
have answered well for that of Shylock, as he 
uttered his own sentence : “ My deeds upon my 
head!” He was beset by serious financial dif- 
ficulties ; his effort to keep up appearances 


I/O SUSPICION. 

was costing him more than he could long com- 
mand; and he was making every turn possible to 
obtain funds either in large or small amounts. 
His ventures, which had often been successful, 
were going now in the other direction. 

It was the trial of his life to be subject to the 
upbraidings of his wife, and his greatest dread 
was to have her know the strait into which he had 
fallen. 

The life of that exquisite plant, domestic felic- 
ity, depended in their case on a liberal fertilizing 
with gold. Possessing no noble characteristic, he 
yet sometimes appeared amiable, because of his 
great dislike of disturbances of any sort. 

Between him and his wife there was one point 
of perfect agreement ; an instinctive dislike of 
those whose nobility and refinement of character 
were in themselves a rebuke to them. True 
self-respect, ‘Hhat early form in which great- 
ness appears,’' was left out of their composition. 
Smothered and hidden, there was still in Mr. 
Smalley a vestige of what once had been a con- 
science of some susceptibility. To-day this moral 
faculty made a feeble remonstrance, but was 
silenced as soon as recognized. 

A dark scheme was maturing in his mind, 
and he would not have it frustrated. He had 
always felt ill at ease in Margaret’s presence, 
though secretly counting her the finest specimen 


SUSPICION. 


I7I 


of a woman he had ever seen. But he hated her 
for her very excellence. Muttering to himself as 
he started, he went again stealthily to the room 
where he had so lately been reminded of Marga- 
ret’s high self-respect. Standing before his wife’s 
bureau, he caught sight of a reflection of himself 
in a mirror, and for a moment was shocked at his 
pale, deep-lined face. It flashed over him that 
his harassing cares and intense determination were 
taking a hold on him of which he had not before 
been aware. 

He summoned sufficient courage, however, to 
proceed with his errand until a sudden slight noise 
in the hall made him pause. He went on tip-toe 
to the door, peered into the subdued light and lis- 
tened intently. His eager imagination assured 
him there was no one near, and with secret exul- 
tation that so far his scheme was succeeding, re- 
turned cautiously to the library. 

Not long after, the waiting man, who seemed to 
come from below stairs, noticed the huskiness of 
voice in which Mr. Smalley said to him : ^‘James> 
I am going out, and may not be home to dinner. 
Tell Mrs. Smalley not to wait for me; and, 
James, don’t for the life of you mention my com- 
ing home as I did ; it might worry her. You’ll 
remember ? ” The silver coin he slipped into 
the man’s hand was guarantee that his memory 
would not fail him. 


1/2 


SUSPICION. 


When Mrs. Smalley returned, she noticed that 
her jewel cases did not occupy their usual posi- 
tions, and, examining them, found that her most 
precious jewel, a necklace of diamonds, was gone. 
She stood for a moment as if stunned, and then 
fluttered about, looking in every place possible or 
impossible, where it might have accidentally fallen 
or have been placed. 

Already weary, this excitement of mind added 
to her unnerved state, and in sheer exhaustion 
she dropped into the nearest seat, which proved 
to be the one in front of her desk. In her eager 
search for the necklace she overlooked the note 
Margaret had left for her, but now she saw it and 
at once recognized the hand-writing, which did 
not minister to her self-control. 

Taking it up with a spiteful clutch, she tore it 
open and read. There were not many sentences, 
but the few were well chosen and clear, and in- 
formed Mrs. Smalley that from that day, the close 
of a term, their relations must cease. There were 
expressions of thanks for any kindness and for- 
bearance the writer had received. 

Throwing the note from her, Mrs. Smalley’s 
feelings expressed themselves audibly : ‘‘The hate- 
ful, proud thing ! She’s at the bottom of this ! 
I know now where my ring has gone ! The sly 
Pharisee she has been all this time ! But I’ll be 
even with her ! I’ll pursue her till I get them 


SUSPICION. 


173 


back, if it takes me a life-time ! ’’ Pressing her 
hands to her head as the pain now followed her 
intense emotion, she rose and walked the floor. 

Later, as Mr. Smalley entered her room, he 
found her on a couch and presenting a gloomy 
picture. 

Very sad for them, they were not given to the 
observance of tender courtesy toward one another. 
There are worse things in the world than the exer- 
cise of a rude manner between husband and wife, 
but there are few more destructive of the flne 
heart-bloom of man or woman than just this habit 
of a biting, stinging treatment of each other. No 
degree of love can long survive it, and no measure 
of mutual or self-respect can continue to exist un- 
der its influence. 

‘‘Not dressed yet.^^ Aren’t you going out.^^” 
was his greeting. 

“No ; I’m too miserable to think of it.” 

He seated himself at a little distance from her 
and did the ungentlemanly and provoking thing — 
gave expression to a low, sarcastic whistle. 

“Don’t exasperate me any further; I’m excru- 
tiatingly nervous now; I’ve had more to bear 
already than I’m able to.” And resting her chin 
and cheek in one hand and her elbow on the 
end of the couch, she continued, “I have lost 
my necklace, and am vexed to death with Miss 
Strong.” 


174 


SUSPICION. 


Lost your necklace ! Why, when did you first 
miss it ? 

‘‘When I came home this afternoon, I found 
the case empty and not in its usual place. O, 
how dreadful for this to happen when I am so sick 
and miserable anyway!'’ A flood of tears gave 
further expression to her vexation. 

“ When did you wear it last ? ” 

“ I can’t remember. I went off in such a hurry 
to keep the engagement you forced upon me.” 

“I thought it would be most agreeable to you.” 
he ventured. 

“ It might have been at some other time, but I 
wasn’t in the mood for it.” 

“ Moods are not to be indulged with safety by 
one of your ambitions. Moods take time.” 

“ Don’t preach to me ; I can’t stand a word of 
it ; I suppose you’ll call my trouble and headache 
only a whim ! That’s all the sympathy I need 
expect from you.” 

Mr. Smalley went to the bureau, opened the 
empty case, and stood for a moment in thought ; 
then turned and resumed his seat ; as he did so, 
picking up the note Mrs. Smalley had thrown to 
the floor, saying : “Wasn’t it pretty careless of you 
to leave your jewels here.? One would suppose 
you would keep them in the safe.” 

“I won’t stand your blame I You’re a monster 
to talk so to me ! My headache is torturing, and 


SUSPICION. 


175 


I’m not responsible. Read that note and you’ll 
see who the guilty one is.” 

As he read, he had to make an effort to com 
ceal the satisfaction it gave him that he had this 
further help in the scheme with which he was so 
much absorbed. 

Closing the note, he said with excellent dis- 
guise: ‘^With your habit of jumping at conclu- 
sions, you seem to decide that Miss Strong has 
been tempted to take your diamonds ; and really 
this note at this time does look bad.” 

^^Of course I suspect her. She knows all about 
my jewels. I’ve dressed time and again with her 
in my room. What a simpleton I was to have her 
left alone here ! ” 

‘^Well, that necklace will be a fine set-off to 
her queenly style,” replied Mr. Smalley with a sin- 
ister laugh. 

‘^Queenly style! How miserably horrid you 
can be ! ” Mrs. Smalley resorted to her smelling- 
salts and Mr. Smalley re-read the note he still held, 
and then said, Have you any other reason for 
her declining to teach you than that of her possi- 
ble guilt ? ” 

‘‘No; I should think that quite sufficient,” she 
retorted. 

“What will you do about it.^” 

“You’re the one to decide that. We must over- 
take her and get the things back. I lost a ring a 


iy6 


SUSPICION. 


short time ago, and I haven’t a doubt but she has 
that also.” 

‘‘Well, this is a queer piece of business. I don’t 
mind bringing her self-righteousness down a few 
degrees, and I don’t like to have our goods walked 
off with in this way. But^do you really think the 
girl would steal 

“Yes; I do. The things are gone; she was 
here alone ; what else can I believe } She has 
always been too high-minded for her position, and 
I shall be glad enough to prove her guilt and hum- 
- ble her.” 

“ It is a risky thing to accuse without pretty good 
evidence, but if you are determined to pursue her, 
I suppose I must help you. We need not be in 
too great a hurry, though, and in the meantime 
you will get along without your favorite jewel } ” 

“Of course I will if you are stingy enough to 
have me go without ! ” 

Hardly noticing the fling, he said as he rose: 
“Don’t mention this to any living soul until further 
developments. I am going out now on a matter 
of business.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


TRAIL OF THE SERPENT. 

‘‘The Tempter hath a snare for all.” — Whittier. 

N the afternoon following her painful waiting 



alone in Mrs. Smalley’s absence, Margaret 
started out from her home to do some errands and 
call upon an old friend of her mother’s, whom she 
had been longing to see. Reaching an intersec- 
tion of two streets, she paused to decide which 
way to go first. As she stood in this hesitating 
manner, she felt herself to be the object of atten- 
tion from a dark-faced man who seemed saunter- 
ing on the opposite side of the street. A slight 
flush overspread her face as she made an effort to 
seem unconscious of his presence. 

She opened a hand-bag she was carrying, took 
out a card bearing an address, charged her mind 
with the address, returned the card, closed the 
bag, and walked nervously toward the next street, 
to take a horse-car for her journey, which was to 
an old and out-of-the-way part of the city. 

While chatting with her mother’s friend, she 


177 


178 


TRAIL OF THE SERPENT. 


forgot, for the time, the unhappy conditions of 
her life, and left her with a smile of almost re- 
stored calmness. As she was entering the car to 
return home, she became aware of the presence of 
some person near her, and looking up, recognized 
the man who had caused her the unpleasant sen- 
sations as she stood deliberating a while before. 
She was provoked with herself for the unrest that 
came over her at meeting that gaze for the second 
time. 

She asked herself why she should care, and 
what difference it could make to her that this 
man should happen to be in two places so identi- 
cal with her own unusual goings. 

She determined not to think of it longer, but 
in spite of her will, she did think of it and ponder 
much at what it was that for the first time in her 
life made her feel insecure and as if approaching 
some impending evil for which she knew not how 
to prepare. 

She did some shopping and indulged a fancy 
that always delighted her, but for which her pres- 
ent exacting life seldom left her the time — turned 
into several streets which the tide of fashion and 
progress had left in their march ; looked into some 
queer little shops where were quaint and some- 
times rare and interesting articles for sale or 
for exhibition. Her spirits rose, and the pleasure 
of this unusual outing refreshed her greatly. 


TRAIL OF THE SERPENT. 


179 


One of her errands was to call for her watch 
that had needed repairs, and while waiting she had 
observed with admiration some diamonds in a case 
near her. Passing out from this place, she was 
almost jostled by a man who had been looking 
into the show-window from the outside. He did 
not seem to observe her and she thought no more 
about him. 

A family whom she had continued to help with 
even her limited means, and who had been her 
mother’s special objects of charity, next claimed 
her attention in a tenement house. It dismayed 
her to believe that, as she came down the dark 
stairs after this call, she met the person who had 
twice before on that afternoon intentionally been 
near her. 

She finally looked in for a little while upon 
Mrs. Hale and the children, and had a congenial 
talk with that dear friend. 

“You manage to keep Marjorie and Reginald 
well all the time,” she said, as the two happy chil- 
dren bounded into the room with demonstrations 
of joy at seeing her. 

“Why, that is chiefly what I am for, now,” was 
the mother’s cheery answer. “ I am ashamed of 
myself if they are not well.” 

“Just like you; it is refreshing to hear such 
talk.” 

“ Children have a right to be well ; and by well. 


i8o 


TRAIL OF THE SERPENT. 


I mean all that goes to make up child-life at its 
fullest. Nature does her best for them, and we 
mothers ought to take care that the good dame is 
not thwarted. That is the secret of keeping chil- 
dren well, as a rule. But how comes it that we 
have a sight of you to-day ? I thought this was a 
busy afternoon for you ? and Mrs. Hale observed 
Margaret’s anxious look. 

Margaret related the adventures of the after- 
noon, leaving out her own unpleasant thoughts in 
the case of the dark-faced man ; merely saying in 
as off-hand a way as possible, and as if impelled by 
some force within: felt myself looked after to- 

day; I met the same man in two extreme portions 
of the city, and a queer part of it was, that he 
seemed to think as strangely of me as I did of 
him.” 

Reaching her home just at nightfall, Margaret 
was startled almost beyond self-control by seeing 
this identical man pass and look scrutinizingly at 
her as she unlocked and entered the door. 

Later, Mr. Smalley and this man might have 
been seen in the home of the former, in low and 
intense conversation. 

''You are sure she went no place beyond your 
following ? ” 

"Very sure; though it took me till the stars 
were out. She did not leave the house till after- 
noon. She seemed very fidgety and not to know 


TRAIL OF THE SERPENT. l8l 

where to go first, but I kept track of her,'’ replied 
the man. 

Good ! She’ll be more fidgety before this is 
over.” Then after a pause: ‘‘My wife is sure of 
the girl’s guilt, and the circumstances are against 
her so far. I don’t want to harm her ; only want 
her to learn that she can’t take what doesn’t 
belong to her.” 

“I see. She’s a mighty pretty girl.” 

A frown unbidden passed over the brow of the 
listener, as he said sternly, “ That has nothing to 
do with the work we have in hand.” 

The rebuke was taken in silence, and Mr. Smal- 
ley resumed in a milder tone: “We don’t want to 
go too fast. Be careful she doesn’t find out her 
steps are watched.” 

“Trust an old stager like me to act his part. 
You may not know me yourself to-morrow. The 
barber can make another man of me.” 

“After all, it isn’t so strange, I suppose, that 
she should not be able to resist a temptation to 
possess herself of diamonds enough to make her 
feel rich for a time. But she must be taught bet- 
ter ; she is altogether too uppish for her station. 
People ought to be honest, no matter how needy 
they are.” 

The face of Mr. Smalley as he finished this sen- 
tence, was a vivid reminder of the venomous gleam 
of a serpent one has suddenly chanced upon in a 


i 82 


TRAIL OF THE SERPENT. 


rural highway. His vis a vis gave him a quick 
glance, then resumed his attitude of one under 
orders and ready for service. He had not prac- 
ticed the detective’s occupation so long without 
being able to see in more than one direction at a 
time, without seeming to see at all. 

With his eyes fixed on the floor he said, ^‘That 
girl went into more strange places to-day than I 
ever caught anybody doing before, and I tell you 
I had to be careful.” 

After more undertone conferring the two sepa- 
rated, Mr. Smalley to report to his wife the prog- 
ress of the proceedings, the other to duties which 
were of a more intricate and agreeable character. 

A malicious satisfaction took possession of Mrs. 
Smalley, as she heard from her husband the ac- 
count of the detective’s work. Mr. Smalley had 
some distinct twinges of remorse while listening 
to her scathing words toward Margaret as she 
caught eagerly at new signs of her apparent guilt. 
He so fully realized the double part he was acting, 
and the injustice of it, that an occasional impulse 
came over him to avow himself as not believing at 
all that Margaret had anything to do with the 
theft. But he was too weak, too much involved, 
and too much afraid of his wife to take any other 
course than that of bringing upon Margaret every 
possible appearance of guilt. 

The daily reports of the detective caused Mrs. 


TRAIL OF THE SERPENT. 1 83 

Smalley to become increasingly convinced of Mar- 
garet's guilt, and strengthened her determination 
to have the matter pushed to issue as fast as pos- 
sible, a vital factor in this determination being a 
feeling of intense resentment toward her for de- 
clining to continue as her instructor ; by which 
Margaret had unconsciously spared herself a heart- 
less dismissal. 


CHAPTER XV. 


ACCUSATION. 


‘‘ The unremitting retention of simple and high sentiments in 
obscure duties is hardening the character to that temperature that 
will work honor, if need be, in the tumult or on the scaffold.” — 
Emerson. 

M argaret made heroic effort to appear 
natural and at ease during the time follow- 
ing that eventful afternoon when she first felt her- 
self watched. Sleep refused relief to her excited 
brain, and the nights were spent in vainly trying 
to decide what she had better do, and in the effort 
to put aside all thought of the suspicions that were 
so harassing to her. Her daily duties were faith- 
fully discharged, and she maintained an external 
calmness only possible in a character of so much 
fibre as hers possessed, and so time wore on. 

Pleading an excuse for remaining quiet, one 
morning, Margaret prevented a suspicion on Amy’s 
part that anything unusual was the matter. ‘‘ Have 
my mail sent to me, dear, ” she said, as Amy took 
leave of her for the morning. 

Left alone, Margaret began to realize that she 

184 


ACCUSATION. 


I8S 

was feverish, ana a distress in her head made con- 
nected thinking impossible. Some letters were 
handed to her by the maid, who noticed that she 
looked ill and received them with a trembling 
hand; but Margaret’s assurance that she needed 
nothing but rest, caused the girl to leave her with 
the feeling that she was only tired and would soon 
be all right. 

It was no wonder that her heart beat violently, 
and her hand shook, as she opened an envelope 
that, before opening, told it was from the private 
banking house of Clark Brothers. Unaccustomed 
as she had always been to the ways of business, 
and lately so limited in means as to make bank 
deposits altogether beyond her, the very thought 
of such things had come to be strange. A mist 
came between her eyes and the bit of paper she 
held before them. Indistinctly to her own mind, 
with a vagueness that means serious weariness to 
brain and nerve, she read, and read again, hardly 
breathing the while : 

‘‘ There has been deposited to your credit with 
Messrs. Clark Brothers, this day, the sum of one 
thousand dollars ” 

Some other words followed, but she could read 
no further. Her brain seemed scorching. She 
began to question her own sanity. The intensity 
of her excited condition led her to believe that this 
was another link in the chain of affairs that was 


ACCUSATION. 


1 86 

being fastened about her, and in such a subtle and 
disguised way that all power in her to resist was 
becoming par'klyzed. 

She pressed her forehead with her hand, as if to 
make sure of her own identity ; pressed her hands 
together, to be sure she had not lost the power of 
sensation. Her eyes had a glassy, staring expres- 
sion that did not seem to perceive what they gazed 
upon. 

A rap at her door caused her to start nervously. 
Her ‘‘Come,’’ was followed by the entrance of Mrs. 
Wiswell, accompanied by a figure which to Mar- 
garet seemed only a dark shadow, with two pierc- 
ing eyes that fastened themselves upon her with 
uninterrupted penetration. 

“You do not feel very well, dear,” and Mrs. 
Wiswell placed a hand gently on Margaret’s brow. 
“This gentleman,” turning toward him, “has 
called on a matter of business, and I came in with 
him, thinking it would be agreeable to you for me 
to do so.” 

The man seemed to feel out of place, yet met 
the occasion coolly. 

Margaret tried to rally her mental forces, looked 
nervously at the stranger, then pleadingly at Mrs. 
Wiswell, and motioned them to seats. 

“It’s a rather awkward errand. Miss, as I see 
you are not very well,” began the man ; “but it 
won’t take long.” As he spoke, taking from his 


ACCUSATION. 187 

pocket-wallet a paper which he unfolded and 
handed to Margaret. 

It often occurs in times of extreme mental and 
physical disorder that there come moments of the 
clearest perception, the most unerring apprehen- 
sion of things that ordinarily require length of 
time to reach. Such a moment came to Margaret, 
as with a flushed face she received the proffered 
document. Menacing as the handwriting on the 
wall of Babylon’s palace, flashed upon her vision 
and burnt into her soul the words : 

‘‘You are hereby summoned to answer to the 
charge of larceny” — 

“I knew it would come!” and clutching the 
paper, Margaret attempted to rise, but sank back 
again in her chair. 

“What does it mean.^^” demanded Mrs. Wis- 
well almost fiercely, her look fixed on the man, 
while she took Margaret’s hand in her own and 
offered some motherly words of sympathy. 

“ It means, madam, thalf*I have a warrant to 
arrest this young woman for stealing.” 

“God forbid!” ejaculated the good-hearted wo- 
man. “ This is a hard world, but such a thing as 
this cannot be ; you are after the wrong person, 
sir.” Turning to Margaret, she saw that she was 
white, like death, and unable to support herself. 

“Will you please ring that bell, sir.^” Mrs. 
Wiswell said to the officer. 


i88 


ACCUSATION. 


To the one who answered the bell she said in 
a low tone, aside, Bring Mr. and Mrs. Hale 
here as quickly as possible.'’ 

It could not be said that Margaret fainted ; it 
was rather a partial giving way of life’s forces that 
still left her with some consciousness. But the 
increasing fever that Mrs. Wiswell’s quick instinct 
in such matters detected, was having the effect to 
produce a delirium not noticeable except to the 
acute perception of one possessed of a tender heart, 
and the skill that comes of long and devoted serv- 
ice to the suffering. 

It was no new position to this man to be a very 
unwelcome presence, and he bore the discomfort, 
if indeed it was discomfort to him, with the ut- 
most complacency. And his gentlemanliness led 
him to say, can retire just outside of the door, 
if it will be more agreeable to you ladies.” 

‘‘Thank you,” Mrs. Wiswell replied; “it would 
be a great favor.” 

He had noted that this door was the only means 
of egress from the room, and one in his profession 
must be pardoned for not accepting, without some 
mental misgivings, the absolute ingenuousness of 
Margaret’s apparently grave physical and mental 
condition. 

When they were left alone, Margaret was induced 
to lie down, when she relaxed into a stupor, from 
which Mrs. Wiswell hoped might come composure. 


ACCUSATION. 


189 


Mr. and Mrs. Hale came, and Mrs. Wiswell gave 
him the notice from Clark Brothers and the sum- 
mons. They watched by Margaret’s bedside for 
the return of mental clearness. There was little 
to be gathered from her incoherent words, beyond 
the fact that she was in dread of some calamity, 
and that money was mixed up with it in her mind. 

I knew it would come ; I knew it would come ! ” 
she would moan, and starting up, look wildly 
around as if searching for some one. A thousand 
dollars ! O, those terrible eyes ! ” And then would 
follow sentence after sentence from which no clue 
to the mystery could be obtained. 

Mr. Hale’s interview with the police officer 
developed nothing further than that a complaint 
had been duly entered by Mr. W. P. Smalley 
against Margaret Strong for larceny. 

Mrs. Hale had recalled Margaret’s excited man- 
ner on the afternoon they were last together, and 
her reference to having felt herself watched. 

During one of her quiet intervals, Mr. and Mrs. 
Hale walked to a window at a remote part of the 
room, and stood gazing out toward an unperceived 
beyond, as one does when, for a time, a stubborn 
wall seems to have arisen in the way of all outlook. 
Softly Mrs. Hale said, ‘‘ It is an awful mystery by 
which we are confronted, but we know that Mar- 
garet is the embodiment of integrity, and I am 
sure it will be proven so to all, sooner or later.” 


ACCUSATION. 


190 

Yes ; I share your feelings and your judgment 
in the matter. It is a painful case, and we shall 
persevere until we get at the bottom of it and see 
her vindicated. Now, what we must do is to get 
her back to a good physical state, in which she 
will be able to help us solve the problem.'' 

Margaret's restlessness called Mrs. Hale to her 
side, while he sought further conversation with 
the unwelcome custodian outside. 

Expeditiously as the case would permit, Mr. 
Hale in person gave the necessary bail for the ap- 
pearance of the accused, so soon as her physical 
condition would permit. This done, the officer 
was notified that Margaret was no longer in his 
custody. The matter of the deposit with the pri- 
vate bankers was also inquired into, though with 
no satisfactory result. 

Friend Rebekah Snow was one of the few who 
were admitted to Margaret's presence. Margaret 
did not appear to recognize her, yet seemed to find 
comfort in her being near. Friend Snow had that 
rare quality that imparts a feeling of strength and 
help to those in need. A grasp of her hand had 
been known to change the current of a life from 
despondence to hope. 

‘‘ What do you think of her now ? " Mrs. Wiswell 
asked, after Mrs. Snow had seen Margaret. 

She is better, much better ; thee should have 
seen how she brightened up when I spoke to her." 


ACCUSATION. I9I 

Friend Snow never seemed to think that it al- 
most always happened that she left those to whom 
she ministered so much better than she found 
them. Hers was the enviable career of going 
about doing good. She knew but little of the 
world in general. To many, her horizon would 
have seemed contracted. It may be doubted 
whether she knew that Robert Browning was a 
fact, or whether she would have recognized a quo- 
tation from Tennyson. Indeed, she had been 
known to quote the tender words, God tempers 
the wind to the shorn lamb,” as from Holy Writ. 
But if thoughts make the character, hers were of 
the sterling type, for how she could best minister 
to the needy, how help bring about the kingdom 
of God in human hearts, wholly occupied her 
thoughts. 

Good Mrs. Wiswell’s gentle heart had found it 
hard to keep up over this that had come to Mar- 
garet. She thoroughly believed that no blame 
could be attached rightfully to the young girl, for 
whom she had come to feel a deep affection. But 
she argued, Satan is very subtle and vigilant, and 
often truth and right are difficult of vindication.” 

tell thee, Harriet Wiswell,” Friend Snow 
continued, ^ this is too one-sided a matter not to 
topple over very soon. Thee knows, too, that 
Margaret has friends that will move heaven and 
earth to see justice done her.” 


192 


ACCUSATION. 


‘‘True, Friend Rebekah; I feel that you are 
right.^^ 

“ I will tell thee what it all looks like to me,’' 
pursued Mrs. Snow. “Thee knows as well as I, 
that our Margaret is a queen among women. Men 
ain’t blind to such things any more than we are, 
though they may go blind as to justice.” 

“ I have thought of that, and I’ve seen that the 
poor child has had something breaking her heart 
for a good while. She has kept up and worked 
right along, but she’s been in some deep trouble.” 

Amy was prostrate in another room, utterly 
unfit to do anything for her sister. A trusted 
nurse had charge of Margaret, but Mrs. Hale or 
Mrs. Wiswell were in almost constant attendance. 
After the fever passed, she would lie for hours 
with closed eyes and lips, often seeming to sleep. 

Then followed a time when she looked about, 
and seemed to be gathering up the loins of her 
being, though she asked no questions, and only 
spoke to express her gratitude for the kind minis^ 
tries she received, or when asked how she was feel- 
ing, would reply: “I am well. My Father has 
comforted His wayward child. He is sufficient.” 

There came a day when she asked to be propped 
up in bed, and that she might see Mr. and Mrs. 
Hale alone. The nurse felt that this was well, 
and her request was granted. 

Sitting beside her, and looking into her face. 


ACCUSAXION. 


193 


which was radiant with a peace they knew was 
that which passeth all understanding'’, Mr. and 
Mrs. Hale heard from her own lips a full account 
of the painful experiences, real and imagined, that 
the recent past had brought to her. There were 
tears in the eyes of all three; tears of joy and 
sympathy; joy for the great uplifting of a soul 
who through tribulation rises to triumph even be- 
fore the hand of the smiter is stayed. 

Those who saw Mr. Hale in public life, without 
close observation might not have discerned in him 
the quality of heart that made his tears more ready 
during that never-to-be-forgotten interview with 
Margaret, than were those of Mrs. Hale. As of 
Richter the only ”, it may be said of him, His 
heart was great and tender, and the ‘ eternal wom- 
anly’ — a most manly womanliness, predominated 
in his character.” 

Closing the conversation, Margaret said : I 
am ready now to meet whatever is before me. 
Yes, I am glad to meet it, for now I know that 
nothing can come to me without my Father. 
Whatever it may be, I am sure that his love so 
surrounds his children that anything that touches 
them is by Him made a blessing. This is the 
‘all things working together for good to them 
that love Him ’. Heretofore when I have heard 
of those who rejoiced in tribulation, it has been 
as ‘sounding brass’ to me, but ‘whereas I was 


194 


ACCUSATION. 


blind, I now see’. He knew that I would learn 
only in the school of severe trial.” 

A nature like that of Margaret Strong rises to 
its best in proportion to the trials to which it is 
subjected, and grows to fill the place to which it 
is called. She had been unable to be even stoic- 
ally resigned to the sorrows and reverses that had 
overtaken her. She had now risen from a dis- 
couraged young girl to the status of chastened 
young womanhood. 

In the quiet isolation of her room, she had grad- 
ually found strength of soul with which to endure 
the ordeal still awaiting her. Cut off from the 
absorbing activities of life, she had finally returned 
to the Father, "who never fails to meet a wayward 
child that truly longs for home and for the Father’s 
support. His word had become to her the source 
of inspiration and guidance. Intellectual self-suf- 
ficiency and a courage based largely on physical 
vigor no longer controlled her. The powers of 
her soul were opened to the influences of the 
Spirit of God, and a new creation had been formed 
in Christ Jesus. Of this ‘mystery’ who can ade- 
quately speak He who said, “I am come that 
ye might have life”, had revealed the Father to 
this soul, who had been so long without truly 
knowing Him. 


•V. - 


CHAPTER XVI. 

TRUE LOVE RUNNING SMOOTH. 


** But there’s nothing half so sweet in life 
As Love’s young dream.” 

— Moore. 

I NDIVIDUALITY and self-reliance are quali- 
ties much admired in the abstract, and striven 
for by many, but too rarely discovered in actual 
fact. 

Amy Strong was no exception to the rule, which 
proves the almost universal leaning of one upon 
another in this life. Toward the young man 
whom she had loved first and only, she had never 
changed in her regard. He fully satisfied her 
heart, and without reasoning it out in the least, 
she had reached a firm conclusion that he was just 
as true to* her, and that the letter from him was 
inspired by influences outside of himself. 

She had given many tears to the disappoint- 
ment ; had lost some sleep because of it, but never 
a word of blame had she uttered concerning him. 
She had been reasonably successful in securing a 

195 


196 TRUE LOVE RUNNING SMOOTH. 

small income from her work as a teacher of paint- 
ing and music. True, her work always lacked the 
one thing essential — soul. Light and shade were 
sadly at fault in her landscapes, and expression in 
her portraits. But her flower pieces had a sweet 
attractiveness ; some of her faces were counted 
pretty, so pretty as to delight the sitters ; and her 
music possessed the quality known as sparkle, 
which to many had the effect they seek in music 
— it took hold of the lighter emotions and served 
much the same purpose as a light, effervescing 
beverage when one is weary. 

Amy sat one morning reading her letters. She 
had not observed that one of them bore a foreign 
stamp. Margaret sat near. 

<‘Oh, sister Margaret, this is from Rob ! '' 

Margaret sent an inquiring look toward the ex- 
cited girl, and Amy continued to read, laughing 
and crying by turns. Presently she flung herself 
on a stool near Margaret’s feet, and laid the letter 
in her lap, buried her face in her hands, and cried 
as any girl-woman must cry when the fountain of 
her feelings breaks its bounds. One of Marga- 
ret’s arms found its way around Amy’s fieck, and 
with one hand she took up the letter and began to 
read. 

Along with a great many other sentiments that 
are as remote from truth as is the North pole from 
the South pole. Lord Byron enunciated the fallacy : 


TRUE LOVE RUNNING SMOOTH. I97 

“ Man's love is of man's life a thing apart ; 'tis 
woman's whole existence." Were statistics possi- 
ble in the realm denominated love, the number of 
masculine hearts that have been true would make 
a good showing with those of the other sex. Rob 
was a case in point. 

After reading the letter, Margaret said in cheery 
tones, ^^Well, little sister, what do you think 
about it " 

Amy looked up composedly, ‘‘I think what I’ve 
always known, sister Margaret." 

‘‘And what is that.^" 

“Why, that Rob loves me, always has, and al- 
ways will.” 

“ Have you preserved the letter he wrote you 
before he went away " 

“Yes," and Amy, going to her writing desk, 
returned with the letter in her hand. 

“Take a more comfortable seat, dear," Margaret 
said; “a stool is more romantic than hygienic as a 
resting place,” and Margaret smiled one of her 
old-time smiles. 

“It will help us in our judgment, I think, to 
look at these two letters side by side.” 

“I don’t need any judgment about it," respond- 
ed Amy; “I believe Rob wasn’t any more than 
the pen and ink, in the writing of that first letter. 
I knew it then, but it was all the same as if he 
were responsible ; he couldn’t do other than he did." 


198 


TRUE LOVE RUNNING SMOOTH. 


Love is sometimes blind, you know, my little 
sister.'' 

Yes, but the sort of love that Rob and I have 
always had for each other, sees the clearest of all 
things if we just give it a little time." 

Margaret quietly read over the old letter from 
beginning to end, folded it, and took up the other. 
In perfect accord with the fitness of things we 
read with her : 


Berlin. 

My Dear, Ever Dear Amy : 

I must call you so this time, if I never may again. First let 
me tell you that I have kept posted concerning you, and I have 
every reason to believe that if you have spumed me from your 
heart you have not taken another into the place that once was 
mine. 

Amy, I can’t write connectedly; I never could, you know. 
But to-day I am all in a quiver. I won’t try to tell you every- 
thing; but you must know something of my experience since I 
last saw you. If you have learned to hate me, I will have to say 
it is all right. I am ashamed to confess it, but Amy, the letter 
I wrote you the time I returned your ring was not my work. I 
will not say a word against my mother and father ; their hopes 
are set on me. They care more for appearances than I do 
Somehow I always felt that it doesn’t pay to wear one’s self out 
to be amongst the rich and great. I want to be with those I 
love, and I can’t love a great multitude of folks. 

Well, you know about “Uncle Pierre.” That was too much for 
my father and mother. They told me I must break away from 
you, and, as I had always obeyed them, I didn’t know how to do 
any other way. They thought, and because they thought it, so 
did I, that to stay abroad awhile would so change me that the 
old love would be forgotten. I tried to do what they wanted. 


TRUE LOVE RUNNING SMOOTH. 


199 


but it was too much for me, Amy. I grew thin, couldn’t eat or 
sleep enough to keep going, and at last my father and mother 
became alarmed. I wanted to die, for to live without you, Amy, 
seemed to me worse than death. 

Physicians were sought, and all agreed that my trouble was 
not of the body, and recommended that if I was to live and keep 
my senses, I should be encouraged to follow any reasonable 
desire. 

Oh, that day when father and mother said, “ How would you 
like to go home and see Amy ? ” You’ll laugh at me and say I’m 
weaker than a girl, but I cried like a baby. I told them that if I 
could know that Amy loved me as she used to, I could live a 
thousand years. So I write this, to say that when it reaches you 
I shall once more be in my native land, and an answer for me at 
our old home will find awaiting it, Y ours forever, 

Rob. 


is honest with you, Amy,'' Margaret said; 
‘^have you thought what you would like to do 
now.'^" 

Amy looked full into Margaret's face, a faint 
blush was on her cheeks, and a coy maidenliness 
in her manner, as she said, I should like to 
write him at once that I am the same Amy, and 
have him come to see me as soon as he can." 

‘‘ O, sister Margaret ! " she continued, with in- 
creasing feeling, ‘^you can never understand how 
I have missed him." 

‘^Then, dear little sister, write him at once." 

Rob's eager expectation was rewarded by Amy’s 
prompt reply to his letter, which, despite all his 
hopes, he feared might never come. He tore open 


200 


TRUE LOVE RUNNING SMOOTH. 


the envelope, and began to read it as he walked 
back to his room. It was well he was alone at 
the time, for only charitable observers could have 
given him credit for either good sense or manly 
nerve. 

Amy had written : 

Dear Rob : 

Your letter is received. Its coming made the only really 
happy moment I have had since our last evening together. I am 
grieved to know that you have not been well, but I understand 
it all. I never felt that the letter you sent me before you went 
away was really yours. O, Rob, it will take a long time to tell of 
all that has happened since that dreadful day. But everything 
seems bright, now that you are so near. 

You must have heard of poor sister’s terrible affair. I don’t 
know much about it ; Mr. Hale has charge of it all, and he looks 
so brave, and seems to feel so confident that it will come out 
right, that I think it must. As for Margaret, she seems like one 
who has been living in Heaven and has just come back to earth 
to show what perfect goodness is. 

But Rob, dear, come and see me, and I will tell you everything. 
I am your own same 

Little Amy. 

The sofas and chairs, the pictures, and the walls 
that made up so large a part of the parlor in Mrs. 
Wiswell’s home, were all too true to their secretive 
nature ever to reveal the demonstrations that 
marked the meeting between Amy and Rob. 
And as these reticent objects were the only spec- 
tators or auditors, there is no hope of the particu- 
lars of this meeting ever being known. 


TRUE LOVE RUNNING SMOOTH. 


201 


When the two went together to Margaret, she 
saw the unmistakable evidence of the heart satis- 
faction that had come to these reunited young 
people who, since their early school-days, had cher- 
ished for each other a pure love that was as deep 
as their natures made possible. 

Now that the parents of the young man were 
convinced that his welfare depended so much upon 
his affair of the heart, they spared no pains to as- 
sure Amy of their regard for her, and their aban- 
donment of any prejudice that had led them to try 
to alienate their son from her in so ungracious a 
way. Margaret’s great trouble, too, they seemed 
to regard as trivial when compared with any pos- 
sible hurt to their only and beloved son. 

So it is all settled, and my little sister will 
soon be a happy bride.” 

“Yes ; we are to make up for this separation.” 

The time was fixed for an early date, and it is 
one of the evidences that the approval of all na- 
ture rests on true marriage, that hands work so 
willingly, and feet go so trippingly in preparation 
for it. 

There was the usual amount of talk. Some 
held that Amy was lacking in that indefinable qual- 
ity ordinarily termed spunk. Others said, “ Why 
should she cut off her nose to spite her face? 
The two loved each other ; they are well matched, 
and it were well they were mated.” 


CHAPTER XVIL 


A FEMININE EQUILATERAL TRIANGLE. 


“ The way of fortune is like the milky way in the sky ; which 
is a meeting or knot of small stars, not seen asunder, but giving 
light together.” — Bacon. 

H OW’DY, Mrs. Wiswell, I hope I find you 
first-rate to-day . ” 

Thank you, Mrs. Bankstun, I am quite well, 
and glad to see you. Allow me to introduce you 
to my dear friend, Rebekah Snow.’' 

The three women who had met in Mrs. Wis- 
well’s parlor seated themselves for a little talk that 
had for its dominant theme the case of Margaret 
Strong. 

Mrs. Bankstun’s zeal led her to be the first 
speaker. 

Mr. Hale had been true to his character as in- 
dicated in his aquiline features. He had counted 
no cost dear that would in any way help to solve 
the mystery attending this affair of Margaret’s. 
But he was eminently able to keep his own coun- 
sel, when necessary, and little was known by even 
Margaret’s most devoted friends, of what the pro- 


202 


A FEMININE EQUILATERAL TRIANGLE. 203 

ceedings were to be. Leave it all to me. Think 
as little of it as possible, keep a brave heart, and 
trust the sequel,’' he had said to Margaret ; and 
she followed his advice. 

‘‘Well, ain’t folks too mean for anything ! ” be- 
gan Mrs. Bankstun, as she wiped the perspiration 
from her open, honest brow. “Why, when me 
and paw heard about the awful thing that has come 
to Miss Strong, I was all broke up, I was.” 

Here, she took out from the satchel that was 
ever-present, a gaily-ornamented, folded fan, which 
she used vigorously. 

In a voice that was suggestive of the lulling 
music of ocean murmurings, Mrs. Wiswell an- 
swered, “ It is one of the bitterest, and I believe 
the most unrighteous things possible, and a new 
revelation to me of the wickedness of the world.” 

“I tell thee,” put in Friend Snow, “thee will 
both have thy eyes opened when this matter is 
cleared up. Satan is hard at work on it ; but it 
must end in victory to Margaret.” 

With rising temperature, Mrs. Bankstun caught 
at a cesural pause in Mrs. Wiswell’s rythmical 
answer: “When it first come to me, I thought 
the girl was good as done for, I did. The world’s 
mighty hard on poor girls, as it were. But then 
again, thinksed I, there’s surreptious work going 
on, and I, for one, mean to stand by Miss Strong 
through thick and thin, like.” 


204 A FEMININE EQUILATERAL TRIANGLE. 

‘‘There’s more of us that will stand by her, and 
best of all, the Lord Himself stands by her. Thee 
knows how the Holy Spirit has met and comforted 
her.?” 

“Certing I do. Soon as I knowed who the 
man was that accused her, I wanted for to go at 
onest and tell him what I thought of him. Why, 
he’s the torndownest, meanest scapegrace that 
you could scare up ; and mark my words, he’ll 
wish he’d never a-heard of this ugly mess afore 
he’s done with it ! I can’t help wondering what 
the breath of life’s ever been left in him for, 
anyhow.” 

Mrs. Wiswell was led to say: “I am coming 
more and more to feel that to observant souls the 
vicissitudes of life cease to be matters of surprise, 
and come to be received with composure and in- 
ward assurance that each event is only a part of a 
great whole.” 

“ Thee has the right of it, Harriet Wiswell. But 
most of us learn so slow, thee knows.” 

From her point in this feminine equilateral tri- 
angle, Mrs. Bankstun’s matter-of-factness again 
asserted itself with more fervor than grace : “ I 
can’t see for the life of me how this miserable mix- 
up of things in Miss Strong’s affairs can be a part 
that ought to come into her life. God ain’t send- 
in’ it to her, sure, now.” 

“ He is sending; He has sent to her such ‘a real- 


A FEMININE EQUILATERAL TRIANGLE. 205 

izing sense of His Fatherly protection in it that 
she would tell thee to-day she blesses the afflicting 
rod.” 

am quite clear that he has called her to some 
great service, and that the experiences through 
which she has to pass are fitting her for it. Not 
often has a young girl had so much to bear as has 
Margaret Strong,” replied Mrs. Wiswell, turning, 
as if expecting a reply from Friend Snow, who 
said with much feeling, I was thinking it over 
this morning, and I want to tell thee of a call I 
had yesterday from old Daniel, the man who 
served so many years in the Strong family.” 

Well, that is another unexpected occurrence.” 

‘‘Where are they living, he and his staunch 
wife, Rhody ? ” asked Mrs. Wiswell. 

“That’s a part of the strangeness of things. 
It turns out that they are at Rest Castle, the Van- 
dyke country seat.” 

“Well, well, how things do come around!” and 
Mrs. Wiswell drew her chair nearer to Friend 
Snow, as if awakening to increased interest in the 
subject. 

Mrs. Snow explained to Mrs. Bankstun the ne- 
cessity that had caused Rhody and Daniel to seek 
another home, and then continued her story : 

“Through Mr. and Miss Vandyke, who had 
only recently found out the relation Rhody and 
Daniel had held to the Strong family, they heard 


2o6 a feminine equilateral triangle. 

something of Margaret’s impending hearing before 
the Magistrate. The poor man declared his inten- 
tion to stand by Miss Margaret as long as he had 
legs to stand on.” 

‘‘Thee knows that Miss Vandyke has had Mar- 
garet for a teacher this good while. Thee may 
talk of the strangeness of fiction, but what goes 
on in real life beats it all to pieces.” 

“About her teachin’,’' urged Mrs. Bankstun ; 
“she beats everything when it comes to that. 
Why, I’ve learned more from her than I knowed 
in my whole life-time before. And the best of it 
is, she makes you find out all the time that the 
learnin’ is in yourself, and only needs spreadin’ out 
where it can find the light, like. I’ve got the 
whole geology of her family, and she’s of the gen- 
u-wine stock to the backbone.” 

“For one so young, she has developed great 
power in the direction of helping others. And 
though to attract a multitude gets a great name 
for one, to come face to face and heart to heart 
with help, takes more of the spirit of the Great 
Teacher,” answered Mrs. Wiswell. 

“When she first undertook to teach me, I felt 
that I must go to receptions and such dreadful 
places, and I wan’t schooled that way. She never 
told me it was foolish for me at my time o’ life to 
crucify myself by tryin’ to do what I couldn’t, no 
way; but would you believe it, I just found out by 


A FEMININE EQUILATERAL TRIANGLE. 20/ 

’sociatin' with her that a body that wants to be 
worth shucks in this world can’t be makin’ appear- 
ances by tryin’ to act like other people. We’ve 
got to act like ourselves, and do our own part in 
this world. Why, I tell you, I feel like one that’s 
got his free papers since I’ve knowed enough to 
just go right ahead doin’ the things I had the 
gumption for, and not be tryin’ to play I was some- 
body else.” 

The length and depth of this personal outburst 
caused Mrs. Bankstun to rise and, going to a win- 
dow, risk her over-filled gloves by trying, as she 
said, '^to get a bit of fresh air,” by pushing up the 
sash, which, however, offered a resistance that 
made success even more necessary to her comfort. 

Mrs. Wiswell’s sympathetic tact soon brought 
about the desired result, and Mrs. Bankstun’s pulse 
was restored to its normal movement and her color 
settled to its usual florid complacence. 

Looking first toward one, then toward the other 
of her auditors, Mrs. Wiswell took up the conver- 
sation : It seems that events come thicker dur- 
ing some periods than others. You may not have 
heard that Miss Kingsly has decided to go to 
India.” 

You don’t say now ! However can her brother 
get along ’thout her.^^ Why, she’s missionary 
enough here at home, ’pears to me,” and Mrs. 
Bankstun looked as if awaiting more light. 


2o8 a feminine equilateral triangle. 

‘'There is great need for some one like her for 
superintendence at an important station ; so she 
feels it her next call to service to go there.’' 

“Thee may be sure that Wordsworth Kingsly 
couldn’t think of himself, or any need of his, that 
could come between his sister and such a convic- 
tion of duty.” 

“ O, yes ; and dear old Rosanna doesn’t seem 
to age a bit, and Mr. Kingsly will never need a 
housekeeper while she is able to keep going.” 

Mrs. Wiswell’s “ Come in, dear,” was followed 
by the appearance of Corinne on the threshold of 
the door leading from the sitting-room. With a 
sweet gracefulness she came forward, as Mrs. 
Wiswell said, “My daughter, ladies.” 

Corinne acknowledged the introduction with a 
smile, winning as it was genuine, as she took Mrs. 
Wiswell’s extended hand into both of her own. 

“What is it, dear.-^” asked Mrs. Wiswell, “the 
friends will pardon your interrupting me.” 

“It is this, motherdy; Miss Amy wants me to 
practice a new song. She sends word that she is 
well, and would like me to come now. Isn’t it 
good she is well again 

“ It is, indeed. I would go, dearie, but not stay 
very long ; she may not be so well as she thinks, 
yet.” 

The cherishing Corinne was receiving in her 
new home, the opportunity for growth in all good 


A FEMININE EQUILATERAL TRIANGLE. 2O9 

ways, the ministry to her special craving of being 
allowed to study and live with music, had caused 
the child to bloom out as a plant under June skies. 
As she passed from the room with a pleasing leave- 
taking, the three gazed after her with admiration. 

Mrs. Bankstun was a little more than gracefully 
eager to add her mite to the chapter of extraor- 
dinary events that had so seasoned the conversa- 
tion. Anticipating a closing period to more than 
one sentence, she had drawn a long breath, straight- 
ened herself energetically, and finally said, I want 
to cap the climax, friends, by tellin’ you that Sam- 
my Lingle’s wife has come to, again, all of a sudden 
like, and got as good sense as anybody.'' 

‘‘Thee can't mean it, Mrs. Bankstun ! It would 
be like raising the dead, to give her mind back to 
her!" 

“Well, it's done, whether it's raisin' the dead 
or not. I've seen her with my own eyes, and 
she’s as straight as anybody, and her and Sammy 
is that happy they don’t know how to be good 
enough." 

“ I knew," and Mrs. Wiswell’s manner was as 
if she felt something akin to the awe that might 
attend the witnessing of a miracle ; “ I knew that 
Mr. Kingsly had lately been hopeful of her case. 
He made the opportunity for them to live in a 
clean, healthful place, and everything reasonable 
has been done to cure her." 


210 A FEMININE EQUILATERAL TRIANGLE. 

‘'That’s SO,” replied Mrs. Bankstun, “he’s the 
greatest man to get right down into the dust and 
ashes to dig out what he calls ‘God’s precious jew- 
els’ that ever lived, I do believe.” 

“ Well, I suppose Sammy feels like his work is 
done. Thee remembers he used to say, all he 
asked was to live to hear his wife say, ‘ Sammy, I 
forgive thee ’.” 

“How did it happen, at last ? ” 

“Well, it seems he had left her for a few min- 
utes, and she tried to get up. She must a pitched 
out of bed, for he found her lyin’ on the floor. 
When he picked her up, she said, ‘O, don’t beat 
us ; the poor little things are so hungry and sick ! ’ 
Sammy had hard work at first to prove to her that 
he was not the same man he was on that dreadful 
night. He got some one to go for Mr. Kingsly, 
and he fetched a doctor with him,” 

“It seems almost too wonderful to be true; I 
know it must have been a touching experience to 
Mr. Kingsly to see that poor wreck of a woman 
with her reason restored,” said Mrs. Wiswell. 

“The doctor had told him and Sammy that it 
might happen ; and that any sudden shock to her 
system might bring it about, by what he called 
relieving the pressure on the brain.” 

“Of course, then, she has no clear perception 
of what has happened since the blow on her head 
that caused her mental trouble.^” 


A FEMININE EQUILATERAL TRIANGLE. 21 1 


‘‘She will take up life from that time, thee 
knows, and she will need much sympathy and 
care to help her bear it all. I must go and see 
her, and do what I can for her. If thy hands 
aren’t too full, Harriet, thee, too, can comfort 
her.” 

“I’ve told Mr. Kingsly to count me in, if he 
wants anything I can do,” added Mrs. Bankstun. 
“Me and paw have helped some in the expenses.” 

Rising to leave. Friend Snow said, with an 
expression of face that made her presence always 
a benediction : “ I feel that my spiritual and mental 
loins are strengthened, and I must be about my 
work now. Thee sees how in every case that has 
been mentioned this morning, hope for good is so 
well rewarded.” 

When the two were left alone, Mrs. Bankstun 
said: “Now, Mrs. Wiswell, I’ll tell you what my 
main errand is this morning. After Miss Strong 
is over this trouble, I mean after the trial, or 
whatever it is, comes off, she’ll be that worn out 
she won’t know which way to turn.” 

“ It is marvellous, Mrs. Bankstun, how rapidly 
she is gaining her strength. Since the fever left 
her and the great peace came into her soul, she 
has seemed renewed.” 

“No doubt, ma’am, but she’ll need change and 
rest. Now me and paw has put aside some money 
for her use. She can go where she thinks it 


212 A FEMININE EQUILATERAL TRIANGLE. 

would help her most, or stay right here and use 
this money to make her feel easy and independent- 
like. It’s no charity ; I never could pay her for 
all I’ve learned from her.” 

‘‘You are generous, Mrs. Bankstun, and Miss 
Strong will appreciate your kindness ; but she is 
very averse to receiving favors that she can do 
without.” 

“Yes, yes, I know that. But she can take this 
as a favor to me, as it is, certing. I’m so poor at 
writin’, I just thought I’d ask you to manage this 
for me, and when you’ve made her see that she 
ought to receive the money, you just let me know, 
and it’ll come right along.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


VINDICATION. 


“ Value soars above 


What the world calls misfortune and affliction : 
These are not ills ; else would they never fall 
On heaven’s first favorites and the best of men.” 


— Addison. 



‘HE morning for the examination in court 


-L had arrived. The scene presented was ex- 
traordi.nary. An hour had been set that would 
prevent a throng of lookers-on, whose idle curi- 
osity is gratified by recitals that come out in the 
usual proceedings of such occasions. Never was 
there gathered in this room such an assemblage of 
men and women of influence that comes of excel- 
lence in character and social position. 

All that acquaintance with the law could sug- 
gest had been done in preparation for this case, 
which seemed to hold in its results the destiny for 
this life of one who, in herself, had no perceptible 
means of defence against what, on the face of it, 
was a most plausible and just accusation. 

Is it because Justice is blind that so many 
places where it is ostensibly sought, are dark, 


213 


214 


VINDICATION. 


grimy and forbidding, to gentle-eyed Mercy 
Surely the absence of sunshine and cheer gives 
place for the lurkings of evil spirits. No ray of 
sunshine had ever penetrated this room. 

The judge was in his seat behind a heavy rail- 
ing that had the appearance of keeping him a pris- 
oner, rather than of being a means of preserving 
his isolation from intruders who recognize no 
other boundary lines than those of solid and as- 
sertive material. On this occasion, however, there 
was so little formality that the entrance to this 
frowning enclosure stood wide open, and it was 
near it that Margaret was seated. The visage of 
His Honor was thin and sallow, but observed 
closely, revealed lines which, with the expression 
of his mouth and eyes, gave assurance of a heart 
unstinted and a brain clear and disciplined. 

On one side, in groups here and there, were 
seated friends of the accused, a large number of 
whom had with great cordiality offered to be pres- 
ent and testify to her irreproachable character. 

Mr. and Mrs. Hale sat with Margaret, who was 
not required to occupy the place usually assigned 
to prisoners at the bar. Mr. Vandyke took a seat 
a little apart, after a few low-spoken words with 
Mr. Hale and a silent pressure of Margaret’s hand. 
Mrs. Wiswell, serene and hopeful ; and Friend 
Rebekah Snow, indignant and alert, had been the 
first to take their seats. 


VINDICATION. 


215 


It was difficult for Margaret to disguise the pain 
occasioned her by Mrs. Bankstun’s over-cordial 
grasp of her hand. ‘‘How are you keepin' up, 
child ? Don’t you git scared ; it will soon be over 
now.” 

Margaret’s “Thank you, I am quite well, and in 
no fear,” sent Mrs. Bankstun bustling to a seat, 
where she vigorously fanned herself and wiped the 
moisture from her benevolent brow. 

On the other side of the judge were seated Mr. 
and Mrs. Smalley, their counsel, and the detective 
whose searching, suspicious eyes had lost all their 
terror now for Margaret. 

Mr. Smalley was surprised and alarmed at such 
an array of influential witnesses in Margaret’s 
behalf. He was of that class of men who really 
believe that so long as their sins are covered by 
the elegancies of life, they are not guilty in the 
same degree as those who practice the same evil 
habits under the guise of coarse fabrics and with 
the frugality acquired by scant means. 

A hush similar to that which precedes the vocal 
beginning of a service over the dead was broken 
by the clerk who, rising, read in rapid, mechanical 
fashion : “ Margaret Strong, you are here to an- 
swer to the charge of larceny. What have you to 
say to the charge.^” 

“Not guilty,” came from Margaret’s lips in a 
firm, quiet voice. 


2i6 


VINDICATION. 


The clerk called ‘‘Washington Penryth Smal- 
ley,” and that gentleman stepped forward. A 
Bible was handed to him that for evidence of ex- 
ternal use merited high respect. 

“ Doyousolmlysweartull tell th truth thole truthn 
nuthin butth truth selype God ! ” said the clerk in 
one breath. 

Mr. Smalley stood erect as he brought the oft- 
kissed volume in contact with his lips. 

“ Do you recognize the accused ? ” 

“I do,” and Mr. Smalley cast an involuntary 
glance toward Margaret. 

“Will you state your charge against her.'^” 

“This young woman came into my residence, 
and when alone in my wife’s room, possessed her- 
self of a diamond necklace.” 

“ Is that the only time she was in your house ? ” 

“ O, no ; she was frequently there in service to 
my wife.” 

“ What was the nature of the service ? ” 

“ She was ” — here Mr. Smalley’s pride disturbed 
him, and he hesitated — “ She was — reading to 
her — I believe ; acting as a sort of companion in 
convalescence.” 

“Where was the necklace usually kept.? ” 

“ On my wife’s dressing bureau, in a case, when 
not in the safe.” 

“ How long after the necklace was gone was it 
before your suspicions were aroused.? ” 


VINDICATION. 


217 


‘‘Only a little while.’’ 

“ Will you state how long ? ” 

“Some hours ; I don’t exactly know.” 

“What led you to suspect Miss Strong.?” 

“The fact that no one else was in the room 
when it was taken,” was the answer, in a voice 
not steady. 

“ Did you say she was the only one in the room 
when it was taken ? ” 

Mr. Smalley took hold of the railing near which 
he stood, and seemed to need more breath as he 
answered, “I did.” 

“ How long was it before the necklace was 
missed, after Miss Strong left the house.? ” 

Mr. Smalley showed sign of some rising temper, 
his counsel objected to the question as having 
been answered, in fact, before, and Mr. Smalley 
said, “ I’ve answered that ; I think it was some 
hours.” 

Mrs. Smalley was next called, and by the time 
the process of taking the oath and adjusting her- 
self to the position of being the object of close 
scrutiny was over, she presented one of the most 
uncomfortable pictures of which a well-dressed 
woman of the world is capable. 

“Do you know the accused.?” served as the 
beginning of her examination. 

“I do.” This with more spirit than the cir- 
cumstance seemed to call for. 


2I8 


VINDICATION. 


^^Will you please state what you know of this 
matter ; the charge that is made against her 

She came to my house and waited in my room 
when I was away, and no one else was there, and 
when I came home my necklace was gone.” 

‘‘Will you state who admitted the young wo- 
man ? I understand you to say she was alone in 
the house.” 

“ O, a servant let her in, of course ; our wait- 
ing-man.” 

“Had you any reason to believe the accused 
was not honest 

“ Only because such people are easily tempted, 
you know.” 

“How did it happen that she was left alone in 
your room ? ” 

“I left word for her to wait there for me.” 

“Was there any other evidence of her guilt 
than her being there alone.?” 

“ Yes ; she left a note that very time telling me 
she could not come to the house any more. I 
think that showed she was afraid to come because 
she was guilty. And besides that, I lost a ring 
lately, and I think she must have taken that.” 

“Was there any other person in your house 
that afternoon besides your waiting-man .? ” 

“There were other servants, of course.” 

“Did you come home sooner than you had 
intended.?” 


VINDICATION. 


219 


‘‘Mercy, no ! What has that to do with it 

Mr. Smalley turned uneasily in his chair. 

“Are you sure you left the cases with the jew- 
els in them on your bureau when you went out 
that afternoon ? '' 

Mrs. Smalley looked pathetically at her husband, 
then toward their lawyer, and finally with an expres- 
sion of gathering dread to her questioner. 

“ O, I don’t know ! And I’m tired to death 
and can’t stand any more questions.” Here she 
covered her face with her handkerchief and began 
to cry. 

“You may be excused,” came to her relief, and 
the lawyer for the prosecution attended the weak 
woman to her seat, where, after some more tears, 
she regained composure. 

Michael Brightman, the detective, testified next. 
In taking the oath he raised the bible to his lips 
like one skilled in the practice. His manner indi- 
cated the absence of any concern as to the issue 
of the examination. 

“ Do you know the accused ? ” 

“I do.” 

“Will you state the circumstances of your see- 
ing her for the first time.” 

“ I was across the street from her, sir, and I 
looked at her pretty close, because I wanted to be 
sure about her actions.” 

“ Go on.” 


220 


VINDICATION. 


‘'She was walkin’ fast, and lookin’ scared, and 
when she come to the corner she stopped. She 
looked like she didn’t know her own mind.” 

“ Proceed.” 

“ Well, she opened a satchel or something she 
had in her hand and seemed to be uneasy about 
what was in it.” 

“ What did you think she had in it ? ” 

“I thought it Avas a diamond necklace.” 

“ What made you think so ? ” 

“Because I had been employed to watch her 
and see if she had it.” 

“ Who had employed you ? ” 

“Mr. Smalley.” 

“ Well, did she have it ? ” 

“It seemed like it, sir. She went into more 
queer places and had more odd-looking things to 
do than any lady I ever went after. I think she 
had a busy time of it that afternoon.” 

This closed the testimony for the prosecution. 

There was little variety in the evidence for the 
defense ; only the testifying of one after another 
to the irreproachable character of Margaret, and 
to the impossibility of her being tempted to any 
act such as that with which she was charged. 

With great earnestness Mrs. Hale stated that 
she had known Miss Strong since she was a 
child ; that she had been left alone in homes 
where there were diamonds of great value, and 


VINDICATION. 


221 


they were as safe as if buried in the mines of 
Golconda. 

The corners of the judge's mouth twitched 
with suppressed amusement when Mrs. Bankstun, 
whose evident eagerness to testify led her to press 
forward a little in advance of her call, said with 
great heartiness: ^‘There's no more sense in try- 
in' to prove Margaret Strong innocent than tryin' 
to make over the creation of the world. Them 
two things is fixed. I know her through and 
through, and she's that honest she couldn't even 
think of wantin' what didn't belong to her. And 
let me tell you ! If that man don't come to a 
worse end than old Ananias, there's somethin' out 
of order with the scales of justice. He's the root 
and branch of this whole affair, and his wicked 
conscience is a-stingin' him even this minute ! " 

After Mrs. Bankstun resumed her seat, Mr. 
Hale said, ^^We have one more witness ; he will 
be present in a few moments." 

‘^Meantime," answered the judge, ^^the young 
woman has the opportunity of speaking in her own 
defense." 

Margaret ^‘wist not that her face shone." But 
those who observed her were impressed with its 
look of glad serenity, and never did her entire per- 
sonality appear to better advantage. She rose 
and modestly, yet with unwavering composure, 
rested her gaze full upon the face of the judge. 


222 


VINDICATION. 


and, with a voice almost cheerful, said : ‘‘ Sur- 
rounded as I am at this time by friends, and in 
this presence where I believe justice will prevail, 
I gladly accept the privilege of saying something 
in my own defense. I solemnly declare before 
God and before you all, that I am innocent, abso- 
lutely innocent, of that with which I am charged.’' 

She paused, as if to select very carefully each 
thought and word, while the quiet of the room 
was intense. 

Turning her eyes upon Michael Brightman, she 
continued: ‘‘I recognize in that man the one who 
has seemed to follow my footsteps. When I realized 
that he was observing me, my already apprehen- 
sive state made the experience a distressing one. 
As the outward seeming of guilt and dejection are 
often similar, I am not surprised that he testifies 
here that I Tooked like I didn’t know my own 
mind, was fidgety, and seemed guilty ’. 

‘‘When it seemed as if there was being woven 
about me a net invisible but no less real, that 
evil toward me was imminent, yet beyond my con- 
trol or conception, I was as one paralyzed. The 
basis for my apprehensions was so vague that 
even to speak of it to my nearest friends would 
have been to distress them, and to make me ap- 
pear morbidly sensitive and suspecting. 

“When the worst came and I was formally ac- 
cused, I was, for a time, as one stranded alone on 


VINDICATION. 


223 


a barren shore. I saw no way to prove myself 
innocent. 

^‘For my accusers, I have only forgiveness. I 
hope that their eyes may be no longer holden, 
but that truth and right may appear to them 
through a vision undimmed by prejudice or 
injustice. 

For my friends ” — here a faltering in her voice 
caused a momentary retarding of the quiet flow of 
her words — who have voluntarily and generously 
rallied to me, I know no words that can tell my 
gratitude. 

'^For myself, I have nothing better to ask than 
that henceforth I may be able to help others to 
find the same victory over trials that I have found ; 
the same confident trust in Him who is the one 
Omniscient, all-loving Lawgiver and Judge.'' 

Silence prevailed for a few seconds after she 
took her seat. As she spoke, Mr. Hale, resting 
one arm on a table near him, without seeming to 
move a muscle from beginning to end of her re- 
marks, gazed intently on the floor. 

Great tears ran down Mrs. Bankstun's cheeks 
as she sat perilously near the front edge of her chair, 
her face aglow and her fan swaying energetically. 

An observer of Mr. Kingsly at the time would 
have seen that his gaze at Margaret was almost 
without intermission while she was speaking. 
Once he turned to notice the face of the judge, 


224 


VINDICATION. 


again, he cast a searching glance at the trio who 
formed the accusing element. After Margaret 
was seated, it was difficult for him to keep them 
from wandering with unwarranted frequency to- 
ward her face, which in the interval after she had 
spoken, showed some traces of the fact that she 
had slightly discounted her nervous force. 

The judge reminded Margaret’s counsel that 
another witness was to be produced. The clerk 
rose, and called the name of “James Gibbons.” 
On taking the stand, he was ill at ease at first, but 
gained composure as the questioning went on. 

“Do you know Miss Strong.'^” asked Mr. Hale. 

“I do.” 

“ How did your knowledge of her come about ? ” 

“ I used to see her as she passed in and out at 
Mr. Smalley’s.” 

“ In what position did you live with Mr. 
Smalley ? ” 

“I was waiting-man.” 

“ Do you still live there ? ” 

“ I do not.” 

“ How long since you left there ? 

“ Some weeks ago.” 

“Did you ever see the necklace which Miss 
Strong is charged with having taken ? ” 

“ I’ve seen Mrs. Smalley wear it often and often, 
and ” — 

“Now, James, will you tell the Court all you 


VINDICATION. 


225 


know of what happened in Mr. Smalley's home on 
the afternoon when the necklace is supposed to 
have been stolen 

‘‘It was Miss Strong's day to come to teach 
Mrs. Smalley. She had gone out and told me to 
ask Miss Strong to wait awhile in her room, think- 
ing she might come back. Mrs. Smalley didn’t 
come back 'till late, and Miss Strong had gone 
when she came." 

“Did you go up-stairs after Miss Strong left 
the house ? " 

“Yes." 

“ Whom did you see there ? " 

Mr. Smalley's counsel objected, but James hes- 
itated a little, and then boldly answered, “ Mr. 
Smalley." 

“ Tell what you saw further." 

“ I was passin' through the hall, and as I was by 
the door leadin' into Mrs. Smalley’s room I saw him 
standin' before his wife's bureau. He was boldin' 
a diamond necklace in his hand and looked like he 
was thinkin'. Then he put it in his pocket.” 

“ Then what ? " 

“ I slipped down-stairs, feelin' ashamed of my- 
self for watchin' him." 

“ Go on," said Mr. Hale, and all in the room 
were alert to hear every word. 

“When Mr. Smalley come down-stairs, he told 
me he wouldn't be home to dinner, and told me 


226 


VINDICATION. 


not to let his wife know he was in the house while 
she was gone.'' 

Mrs. Smalley listened eagerly, turning first to- 
ward the witness, and then toward her husband. 

^'You can have the witness," said Mr. Hale, 
addressing the prosecuting attorney. 

This was answered by a negative nod from that 
gentleman, and the witness was dismissed 

Mr. Hale rose and stepped inside the railing. 
Very deliberately he looked first toward the accus- 
ers, then toward Margaret, and finally toward the 
judge, and began to speak in low and measured 
tones : 

^‘May it please Your Honor, there are a few 
more words to be spoken before this examination 
is closed. There can be but one issue to this 
matter — that of an absolute vindication of Miss 
Strong. But there is no disposition on the part 
of the defense to add to the already humiliating 
defeat of the prosecution. Let a guilty conscience 
and the pangs of remorse be the punishment." 

Taking up the matter from the first dawnings 
in Margaret's mind of impending danger, to the 
testimony of the last witness, he drew a picture 
in which the lights and shades of innocence and 
purity, pursued by the spirit of a fiendish selfish- 
ness, brought so vividly into bold relief those who 
occupied the places of accused and accusers, that 
instinctively the listeners looked from one to the 


VINDICATION. 


227 


Other, swayed by an eloquence irresistible to the 
closing word. 

When, one after another, the audience had taken 
breath and adjusted themselves to new postures, 
the judge rose, and stepping forward, took hold of 
the railing in front of him with both of his scrawny 
hands. He stood for a moment with his eyes 
turned toward the floor, then lifted his gaze and 
in a tender voice pronounced in a few choice sen- 
tences his decision that the examination proved 
beyond all possibility of question, the innocence 
of Margaret Strong and the malicious injustice of 
the charge against her. 

As the last words fell from his lips, Mrs. Hale 
took Margaret’s hands in hers, so expressing her 
feelings. 

Mrs. Bankstun clapped her hands together and 
exclaimed : ‘‘ Bless his good heart ! Anybody 
might know he’d find out the truth, though.” 

“ Silence ! Madam, do you know where you 
are.^” came from the judge, in tones severely in 
contrast with those so lately used by him. 

‘‘ I beg your pardon, sir ; I never was in a place 
like this before ; I didn’t know no better, and I 
couldn’t help it, no how.” 

‘‘ While this was transpiring, and the friends 
were gathering around Margaret with congratula- 
tions, Mr. Smalley and his crest-fallen coadjutors 
left the court-room. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


PECULIAR SYMPTOMS. 


“ Love rules the Court, the Camp, the Grove, 

And men below, and saints above ; 

For Love is heaven, and heaven is Love.” 

— Walter Scott. 

I T is a merciful providence that has so ordered 
our being as to make it to some extent possi- 
ble to guard our innermost feelings from outside 
observation. Doubtless every emotion is stamped 
upon the outer part, and every thought really finds 
visible expression ; but we are such dull readers as 
to be unable to discern much of what passes in 
heart or brain of those with whom we mingle. So 
there is comfort in that ^the heart knoweth its own 
bitterness or joy’, and is not intermeddled with by 
any strange eye of curiosity or un sympathy. To 
natures such as that of Wordsworth Kingsly, any 
burden or anxiety is relieved of much of its weight 
if there is a consciousness of its being borne with- 
out the bold stare and comment of the world. 

Mr. Kingsly went about his duties as usual, and 
228 


PECULIAR SYMPTOMS. 


229 


was surprised when cousin Rosanna said at break- 
fast one morning: ‘‘Why, Wordsworth, I think I 
shall do away with breakfast altogether. You do 
not eat, and as for myself, my early roll and cup of 
chocolate are sufficient.’' 

He was at a loss for answer. He did not feel 
natural, but he had not yet acknowledged to him- 
self, if indeed he had discovered, the extent of his 
disorder. 

Looking across the table to the cheery-faced 
speaker, he either imagined or really noticed, a 
quizzical expression which unnerved him a little. 
With almost his usual self-command, however, he 
said, “ O, no ! cousin Rosanna ; what would the 
morning be without breakfast.^” 

“ Rather lonesome, I should say ; but a break- 
fast that deserves the name must be eaten,” she 
replied. 

“ Really, now, cousin, I was not conscious that 
I had failed to do justice to your good, housewifely 
preparations for me; I shall do better hereafter, 
if you will trust me a little longer.” 

She had noticed what he had not, that for some 
time he had been restless, abstracted, and, as she 
mentally styled it, “upset”. She did not know 
that this condition dated from the day of Marga- 
ret’s examination in the court-room ; she did not 
know such a thing had taken place, nor even that 
there was such an identity as this young woman. 


230 


PECULIAR SYMPTOMS. 


But she had seen similar manifestations in others, 
and had learned to put cause and effect together 
in such matters with accuracy. 

Through Mr. Hale, Mr. Kingsly had become 
interested in the accusation against Margaret, and 
had availed himself of the opportunity to be pres- 
ent at the examination. No special description of 
her had been given him ; he only thought of her 
as a worthy young woman who, for some reason 
not ferreted out, was being falsely accused. Who 
is ready to affirm that it happened that on the 
eventful morning he should have been so seated 
as to make it natural for him to look into her face ? 

And she, wholly unconscious of who he was, 
found herself more than once disposed to scan his 
face, and, absorbed though she was by the matter 
in hand, wondered who the possessor of so fine a 
face could be. 

Resolving to shake off the spell that held him, 
he went to his library, after breakfast, for the ac- 
customed hours of study, but between his gaze 
and every page to which he turned, appeared the 
face of Margaret Strong. Before he knew it, too, 
his thoughts were flitting away here and there, 
but always with her mixed up in them. Then 
something that never had place in his mind before 
took possession. His home seemed to lack some- 
thing; a longing that took form, finally, as for 
companionship. He tried to believe it was his 


PECULIAR SYMPTOMS. 


231 


sister's society he was missing, but she had been 
gone some time, and he had not felt so before; 
rather he had rejoiced in her new undertaking, 
which so completely rounded her life. 

The echoes of Margaret's voice and words as 
she addressed the judge, came to him, and he 
allowed himself to repeat some of the words over 
and over to himself. He changed his work, went 
out and visited some of the special suffering ones 
in his charge. Her presence seemed to go with 
him, and her words, ‘‘For myself, I have nothing 
to ask but that I may help others to find the same 
victory over trials that I have found," kept ringing 
in his ears. He indulged in wishing for one with 
such sentiments to whom he might sometimes go 
when he needed counsel. 

These experiences were not once, but often, and 
he felt annoyed to find that he could not get away 
from them. He felt impelled in his sermons to 
dwell with special fervor on female character and 
worth. He might have done so before, but not 
with the same unction, and never with a conscious- 
ness, after he was through, that he might have 
said more than he intended. 

In passing shop-windows, or through galleries 
of art, he stood longest before a representation of 
a lovely woman, or of some scene in happy do- 
mestic life. Never before had he watched with 
the same interest the process of building a bird's- 


232 


PECULIAR SYMPTOMS. 


nest. But two birds who were preparing for them-' 
selves a home in a tree upon which he looked from 
his window, came to be objects of peculiar pleas- 
ure and interest to him. 

Poems that sang of brave men and fair women 
had now a new meaning and attraction for him. 
He walked miles, sometimes, and if questioned 
about what he saw on the way, truth would have 
compelled the confession that he had only been 
conscious of dissolving views of home scenes, 
always having for their central and crowning pic- 
ture that of Margaret Strong. 

He wanted to see Mr. Hale, but had a feeling 
of dread at coming face to face with one so accus- 
tomed to psychological penetration as he knew 
his friend to be. His sleep was disturbed by 
dreams which brought the same face and form be- 
fore him, and even allowed a freedom that his 
day-dreams had not ventured to warrant or to 
indulge. 

As he did not seem to get better, cousin 
Rosanna suggested change of scene and rest. 
Almost vehement opposition rose to his lips, but 
went no further. To go away anywhere seemed 
very undesirable to him ; but he answered very 
kindly^and truthfully, ‘‘ I am sure I shall be bet- 
ter to stay right here.'' 

Whether it was courage ‘‘tinged o'er with the 
native hue, or its opposite of resolution," that 


PECULIAR SYMPTOMS. 


233 


gained the ascendency over him, cannot be told, 
but there came a day when his desire to see Mr. 
Hale prevailed over all others, and the two were 
face to face in the office of the latter. 

‘^Why, Mr. Kingsly, what ails you You don't 
look exactly well," Mr. Hale said, as he offered 
him a chair and took one himself. 

‘‘ Nothing very serious ; a little worn, possibly," 
was the evasive answer. 

‘^How long has this been going on ? Now that 
I have a good look at you, I see that you are worn." 

O, I can’t say exactly ; really you are making 
too much of it, Mr. Hale ; I shall soon be myself 
again." 

Mr. Hale excused himself from any further 
interruption in a business way, for the time, and 
resuming his seat, said, Have you talked with a 
doctor ? " 

Of course not ; I am not sick ! Let us change 
the subject. Hale; how are the family 

‘‘Well, and better than well ; happy as the day 
is long. I never forget how blessed I am in my 
home, Mr. Kingsly ; but I am not going to leave 
the subject until I get at your trouble. I never 
saw you act like this before, and you must get 
well." 

If Mr. Kingsly had not been a minister of the 
Gospel he would not have been so scrupulous, per- 
haps, in his dealings with the opposite sex ; hith- 


234 


PECULIAR SYMPTOMS. 


erto he had not allowed himself time, nor had his 
inclinations led him to care, to be in any sense ‘‘a 
lady’s man”. And it does not require an over- 
whelming amount of worldly wisdom to be aware 
of the fact that unmarried ministers who pay what 
is known as ‘‘attention” to unmated females of 
their flock, do it at their peril. 

One in any other calling finds the way clear, 
usually, if in the course of his experience an intro- 
duction to a lady that has participated in his 
dreams, becomes to him desirable. It is a price 
that one pays for being distinguished in any way 
that his walk and conversation are noted. In a 
sense, there seems excuse for this habit of laying 
hold of great people, or of people in great places, 
as if they were common property ; it may be ac- 
cording to the law of compensation. 

Seeing those who seem to possess such an over- 
share of the good things of this life, we act upon 
the principle of averaging, and seize upon what is 
seizable in the shining ones of the earth, and 
make that our own. However this may be, the 
fact remains, that crowned heads must find their 
rest under the disturbing gaze of those whose infe- 
riority makes the distinction. 

Had M. D., rather than D. D., been written 
after Wordsworth Kingsly’s name, he probably 
would have said : “ Go to now ; I will see the young 
woman who has made herself so real to me, and 


PECULIAR SYMPTOMS. 


235 


discover if a nearer view dims in any way this star 
of my night and morning sky. Maybe she will 
prove to me that I am not of her orbit ; but I will 
‘end this heartache' someway." 

After a brief silence, Mr. Hale resumed in a 
half-musing way, as he looked intently into his 
friend’s eyes, “ Let me see ; how long did you say 
you had been out of sorts ? ’’ 

“I did not say"; and Mr. Kingsly felt himself 
being read in a way that was not reassuring. But 
bravely as he could, he added, “ I have got into a 
restless, nervous condition, and it bothers me a 
good deal." 

There was an increasing look of amusement in 
Mr. Hale’s face, as he said, “Honor bright, now, 
own up and tell me where you caught this ailment." 

Mr. Kingsly knew he was overtaken, and hu- 
mored both himself and his friend as he said seri- 
ously : “ I have reason to believe it was at the 
court-room that morning. I don’t recall any other 
occasion when the danger to me could have been 
so great." 

Mr. Hale suppressed for a moment a rising 
desire to laugh. If it were possible for so much 
dignity and grace as were embodied in Mr. Kingsly 
to appear awkward and ill at ease, that was an 
occasion. It was this look that made it pardonable 
that Mr. Hale’s amusement got the better of him, 
and he laughed heartily. 


236 


PECULIAR SYMPTOMS. 


Recovering himself, rising, and laying a hand 
on a shoulder of Mr. Kingsly, he said : I believe 
your judgment of the case is in keeping with 
your usual clear-sightedness. I am glad to know 
that the nature of your malady makes it so hope- 
ful of cure. My diagnosis is, that your affliction 
is acute, and with proper treatment and nursing, is 
in no danger of becoming chronic.” 

‘‘I must beg your mercy, Mr. Hale; I am not 
in a condition to be ridiculed.” 

Mr. Hale resumed his seat and his ordinary 
observance of kind gentlemanliness. I ask your 
pardon a thousand times, but it was a temptation 
to have a little fun at your expense. What is to 
be done about this ? ” The question rather to lead 
on in a general way, than as if expecting an 
answer. 

‘‘You are the physician; what do you pre- 
scribe ! ” 

“ I prescribe ? Why, to set about finding the 
specific at once.” 

“ That is the difficulty ; you appreciate my 
dilemma ? ” 

“I think I do. You want a friend just now, 
and you have him.” 

“Now, Mr. Hale, I am going to ask you a ques- 
tion, and I want you not to see anything ludicrous 
in it, if you can help it. I have usually felt 
myself able to keep my head, but somehow lately 


PECULIAR SYMPTOMS. 


237 


I have lost confidence in myself.'’ Leaning so 
near to Mr. Hale as not to let his words be car- 
ried audibly, he asked, ‘‘Do you think she is 
heart-free ? ” 

“ Most assuredly. In the very nat^ire of things 
it must be so.” 

Mr. Kingsly breathed more freely, as Mr. Hale 
continued: “Mrs. Hale and she are the closest 
friends, and it is well understood by us that Mar- 
garet has never yet met her peer in the masculine 
gender. Of course, you understand that I mean, 
has never been in love nor sought by one to 
whom her whole nature could respond.” 

Mr. Kingsly rose and walked across the room, 
then came and stood near his friend, who said : 
“It is a bold stroke for any man to try to possess 
himself of such a prize as Miss Strong ; but if 
there is a man worthy of such a possession, it is 
you. In her late trouble she trusted the case 
with me and it won, not because of me but because 
the right was victorious. Now if you will put 
your affair in my hands, it may turn out that I 
am again a means by which a good cause is made 
triumphant.” 

Mr. Kingsly grasped the hand extended toward 
him, and said: “Count me your most trusting 
client, and carry on the case according to your 
own excellent judgment and skill. And don’t 
forget that I shall be pleased to have an opportu- 


238 PECULIAR SYMPTOMS. 

nity to plead my own suit, should the case so 
turn.^’ 

A sudden shade of deep thoughtfulness took 
possession of Mr. Hale’s face, and Mr. Kingsly 
resumed his seat. It is pardonable, even in her 
lawyer, now, Mr. Kingsly, to speak more frankly 
and freely than I should if the matter were not 
just as it is.” 

The sudden seriousness of his friend was 
imparted to Mr. Kingsly, who said : ‘‘ I pray you 
be out-spoken. What can you mean ? ” 

Mr. Hale related the circumstances of the mys- 
terious deposit of one thousand dollars, and his 
inability to find a clue to it as yet. 

Mr. Kingsly seemed relieved as he replied, 
‘‘Well, what has that to do with what we are con- 
sidering ? ” 

“We have to remember that public opinion is 
industrious and influential, and also that the young 
lady is entitled to ideas of her own, Mr. Kingsly.” 

“ I recognize the force of what you say, espe- 
cially the latter clause of it, and grant it most 
fully. But you know she is beyond possibility 
of blame in this matter and that it will be so 
proven.” 

“True; but if the affair is a part of the 
larceny scheme, we may be long in getting to the 
bottom of it ; for that clique are in terror of pros- 
ecution for damages.” 


PECULIAR SYMPTOMS. 


239 


. All the more now, my friend, I desire to make 
the acquaintance of Miss Strong.” 

It will be an easy matter for you to meet her ; 
but she will carry this blur upon her reputation to 
her grave alone, if it is not cleared away. The 
loss of some of her pupils has seriously narrowed 
her income, but her heroism has increased propor- 
tionally. Her feet are dragging in a miry path, 
but her head seems above every cloud.” 

Mr. Kingsly’s look of pained perplexity led his 
friend to add further, as he bade him good-morn- 
ing : I am very sorry you don’t carry a lighter 
heart away with you. Be assured my best efforts 
are hers and yours, and I am confident as to final 
results, though we may have tedious waiting.” 


CHAPTER XX. 


CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE, 


“ Her spirit leaped into fresh garments and new stature. The 
presence of one to be mated with whom promised the keynote of 
all harmonies, heart-fellowship, in the effort to lift poor daily 
existence higher and higher out of the dust and into light.” 
— George W. Cable. 


RS. Hale let no day pass, now, without see- 



JLVX ing Margaret. She had the tact to give 
comfort and help without seeming to play the 
^‘Lady Bountiful.” 

‘‘ Now, Margaret,” she said during one of her 
calls, throw away your thinking-cap, pack your- 
self up, and come with us ; Marjorie and Reginald 
will keep you from any possible reaction from this 
wearing strain, and Mr. Hale and I are feeling a 
little lonesome because brother Tom is going 
abroad, and we shall miss his usual visit at this 
time. You must take a vacation, and spend it all 
with us.” 

I cannot say anything but ‘ yes ' to your prop- 
osition,” answered Margaret; ‘^the privilege of 
such a visit is in perfect accord with all the other 
good things that come to me.” 


240 


CLOUDS AND- SUNSHINE. 


241 


And she went. 

In the atmosphere of the Hale home, all good 
impulses were encouraged and strengthened. It 
was one of the too rare households in which there 
seemed no lack. Margaret's many-sided nature 
responded to her surroundings. The children 
delighted and amused her, for they were as original 
as they were pure and ingenuous. Reginald’s habit 
of trying to make rhymes made him the occasion 
of many a hearty laugh. To the credit of his 
modesty, it is due him to say that it required a 
good deal of eloquence to gain his consent to have 
his scribblings read. Very shyly he tapped at 
Margaret’s door one morning, and being admitted, 
said, I’ve done the best yet : and if you won’t 
let mamma and papa laugh at it. I’ll let you see it.” 

Margaret stooped and kissed the beautiful face 
of the boy, led him to a seat, and said, in a way to 
place him at his ease at once: ‘‘You dear child! 
I am ever so glad you will trust me in this way ; 
I want to hear your lines, and I promise you mamma 
and papa shall never laugh at them.” 

“ It’s my first composition at school. Miss 
Strong, and I rhymed it because it was easier to 
do it that way.” 

“ I am sure your teacher will be glad you have 
done so. Now let me hear it, please.” 

Reginald’s face had a little deeper tinge of the 
rose of health as he read his crude lines. 


242 


CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE. 


The smile with which Margaret received his 
reading, and her words pleasantly spoken, ‘‘You 
have done well, dear, and I thank you very much,” 
fully satisfied the child-heart. After he had left 
her alone, Margaret realized in herself a feeling of 
motherliness toward this child, and going out 
toward children everywhere, of which she had not 
before been conscious. 

Closing the volume she had taken up, she 
sat thinking, not connectedly but allowing her 
thoughts to take care of themselves: “ How prim 
and prosy the world would be without children ; 
the best rounded characters are those who bring 
up children.” 

A little blank in the connection occurred here. 
Resuming, she wondered who the gentleman was 
with the magnificent face that she had seen that 
morning in the court-room. “How fine his char- 
acter must be ! ” 

“It is strange,” she thought, “but I seemed 
conscious of strength and help when I met his 
look. Of course, it was only my excited state of 
mind ; I will not think of it any more.” 

Then she had compunctions of conscience 
because of the fact that now, with her many bless- 
ings, she felt tugging at her heart an unsatisfied 
desire for such companionship as she had never 
known ; had not before thought much about, and 
surely had never yearned for. She roused herself 


CLOUDS AND -SUNSHINE. 


243 


and succeeded in being interested in reading; 
spent an hour in conversation with Mrs. Hale, 
and the face and form of the unknown seemed 
banished from her further consideration. 

‘‘ Look for me early this evening,’' Mr. Hale 
said to his wife, on leaving home one morning; 
‘‘Kingsly is coming with me to dinner. Don’t 
say a word to Margaret about it, but be sure she 
is here.” 

The evening over, Margaret stood alone and 
gazed out from a window through which the rays 
of the moon came and filled her room with its own 
peculiar, heart-softening light. 

The evening, so full of enjoyment, so unlike 
anything of which she had been a part since her 
mother had passed from her sight, recalled to Mar- 
garet memories that had been crowded out by the 
intense experiences through which she had been 
passing. Very near, almost as if physically pres- 
ent, she felt her mother to be. She would not 
have confessed herself lonesome, but there was a 
heartache for something she could not define; she 
felt the beatings of her heart, and wondered why 
they were so quick and irregular. 

Closing her window, she lighted the gas and 
looked at herself in a mirror. There was more 
than the usual color, and she noted more than the 
accustomed brilliancy in her eyes. With the 
going of the moonlight and the taking of its place 


244 


CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE. 


by the artificial glare of the gas, there went out of 
her feelings much of the tenderness that had cost 
her tears, and in its place came something more 
akin to the material. 

The exactions of the busy life she had been 
leading forbade the luxury of an occasional evening 
for negligee and that sort of waking dreams which 
fill some part in the life of every woman. 

To-night she could choose, and as sleep was far 
away, she lowered the lights and sat thinking. The 
events of her life stood out in bold relief : her 
mother’s death, her own rebellion and final peace, 
her hard work and limited means, her suffering at 
the hands of the Smalleys, the perplexing matter 
of the bank deposit, and the gossip occasioned by 
it all. 

Again the tugging at her heart-strings made 
appeal, and this time so persistently as to find rec- 
ognition. A new awakening had come. Look 
well to your heart, Margaret ! 

Rising, she broke into audible words : How 
strange I had not suspected that admirable person 
was Mr. Kingsly ! I was hardly myself when I 
first met him this evening. I hope he did not 
observe my surprise. How gentlemanly he is ! It 
is a wonder” — here the thought eludes us. But 
her thinking went on, and the midnight stroke was 
sounded before she could compose herself to sleep. 

After the accusation was so completely refuted, 


CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE. 


245 


Margaret resumed her teaching. Some of het 
patrons had notified her in terms of cold polite- 
ness that her services were no longer desired. 
She bore the sting of this with her new-found 
grace and her innate courage, but not without 
suffering. To one of her high sense of right, 
the consciousness that there was the possibility 
of questioning her integrity, could not fail to 
bring distress. 

Some of her pupils, notably Mrs Bankstun 
and Miss Vandyke, were unremitting in their 
studies with her, and unchanged in their warm 
attachment. 

An occasional meeting with Mr. Kingsly while 
she was with the Hales, was enjoyed without real- 
izing how much it meant to her. His character 
unfolded before her in its noble excellence, and 
his companionship supplied the lack in her life of 
which she had lately become conscious. But this 
state of affairs was doomed to interruption. 

During one of their delightful evenings together 
he had spoken of his love, and with an energy 
and eloquence irresistible, even if there had not 
existed in her, unconsciously to herself, a recipro- 
cal emotion. 

But the troth for which he plead was not given. 
For, like an avalanche, there rushed over her at 
the moment, thought of the uncertainty with 
regard to the bank deposit, which still rested over 


246 CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE. 

her like a threatening cloud. And with the 
thought came the determination that no one 
should share her consequent suffering, and above 
all, this man, whose magnanimity and devotion 
led him to make no account of what seemed to 
her a formidable cause of apprehension. 

They parted that evening with great distress of 
mind, and each with an unwavering resolve ; his 
to wait for her always, if need be ; and hers that 
they would come to each other as peers, or never. 

He respected her wish that until all trace of 
the mystery concerning the one thousand dollars 
was removed, their love for each other should not 
again be mentioned between them. 

To Margaret, this new trial came with peculiar 
bitterness. A chilliness came over her, as she 
entered her room alone, after he had gone. She 
stood for awhile looking out at the misty stars, 
from which there seemed to come no ray of ten- 
der hopefulness. She thought of the days to 
come, and of the nearness and yet the necessary 
remoteness that must exist between her and the 
one who could make her life so complete and 
blessed. 

She must tread a path of her own, obscure, and 
even shaded by a cruel suspicion of possible wrong ; 
he, with every conceivable advantage, eager to 
press her close to his life, and find in her the other 
half of his as yet incomplete personality. But 


CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE. 


247 


she felt that her decision was right. She would 
try to draw heroic breath, amid whatever events 
life brought her, and trust an unerring providence 
to reveal and make right what now was dark in 
the matter that was so seriously affecting her life. 

With a brave unselfishness she now gave her- 
self more than formerly to ministering to the 
needy, and the time, though long, brought com- 
pensations, as time well spent inevitably does. 

So many of Margaret’s unhappy experiences 
had been announced by pen and paper, that she 
had learned to open every letter with the feeling 
that some new sensation or discipline awaited her. 
One morning she stood for a while hesitating, as 
she scanned the post-mark of one just received. 
Presently, courage lit up her face as she read with 
steady nerve : 


Paris. 

You will think this is from the grave, but Uncle Pierre is alive. 

My dear Margaret, I do not forget that I have been a source of 
great trouble to you, but we must try to look away from the bitter 
past and rejoice that I am again a man. Some time ago I caused 
to be deposited to your credit with Messrs. Clark Brothers, one 
thousand dollars. It was the first money I could control, and in 
my eagerness I sent it on, thinking you were in need of it. I now 
fear I may have occasioned you new trouble. I kept the strictest 
secrecy over it because I knew that others to whom I was indebt- 
ed might immediately demand payment. Now, every cent I owe 
will be paid by the time this reaches you and the secrecy need not 
longer be maintained. I was prostrated with a long illness that 
forbade all thought of business, hence the delay in sending this. I 


248 


CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE. 


now send to the same bankers, a draft in your favor for an amount 
sufficient to re-pay, with interest, all you and Amy lost by me. 
And, Margaret, believe me, it is money honestly obtained, and the 
gladdest moment of my life was when I had it ready to send to 
you. I cannot make good all that you girls have suffered because 
of me ; forgive me if you can. 

I came here not knowing where to turn, but by chance, as it 
seemed, was recognized by a relative who spoke to me and said, 
“Your name is Pierre Strong, is it not.?” 

He was so cordial that for the moment I felt my old self return. 
He urged, “ Come home with me ; my father never forgets his 
American namesake.” 

I found them living in elegance that betokened wealth. My old 
uncle is a very saint. In his society I could not dissemble. It 
was not long before he knew the worst about me, and to his ever- 
lasting honor be it said, I was led by his loveliness of character, 
without a word of his on the subject, to give up my bad habit and 
be once more upright. 

He insisted on transferring to me such estates as he had indi- 
cated in his will for me. 

^ ^ ^ 

Your Uncle, 

Pierre Strong. 

Margaret's thanksgiving was not more for her- 
self than for the return to the father’s house of 
the prodigal uncle, for whom she had never lost 
her old affection. 

After she had read the letter with Mr. and Mrs. 
Hale and they together had rejoiced at its full ' 
import, it only remained for Margaret to be iden- 
tified at the banking house, and for Mr. Hale, in 
his own good way, to let it be known to Margaret’s 
friends that the mystery was at last fully solved. 


CLOUDS AND -SUNSHINE. 


249 


The one thing in all the world that it would 
seem needs not to be described is love-making. 
Maturity usually knows all about it, and immatu- 
rity is so endowed with intuition and imagination 
as to render further aid unnecessary. And yet, 
while human hearts remain, pure love-making will 
be depicted in literature ; and the number of those 
who will be interested in its recitals will be in pro- 
portion to the number of heart-satisfied people to 
whom literature has a mission. 

Too sacred, though, for handling here, even by 
words the tenderest and daintiest, was the im- 
mediate experience that led up to the union of 
Margaret Strong and Wordsworth Kingsly. To 
attempt a portrayal of their courtship would involve 
the setting forth of emotions no more fitting to be 
paraded for entertainment than is the rose-tint of 
a morning sunrise to be measured and sold by the 
yard for the adornment of some belle of the ball- 
room. 

They were eminently and essentially lovers. 
Somewhere there nestled in the very sacredest 
recess of her memory these words he had spoken : 
‘‘Come with me always. Help me make the most 
of myself and others. 

And for him, the world was a new and exalted 
sphere since her answer, “I will.'’ 


CHAPTER XXL 


THE WEDDING BREAKFAST. 


“ The bells are ringing, 

The sun shines clear, 

The choir is singing. 

The guests are here.” 

— Adelaide Proctor. 

W ITH a natural fitness for being a leader, 
and the awakening of soul that made ser- 
vice to others her dominant purpose, Miss Van- 
dyke, though unable to be raised to a sitting 
posture, yet found a channel for her ministries. 

Several young women who had leisure and 
health, but lacked the ability and impulse to set 
themselves to work, were called to her aid. With 
the tact of genius. Miss Vandyke kept it from 
these helpers of hers that she looked to the new 
work as a means of true development to them 
quite as much as to benefit others through their 
efforts. 

Mr. Vandyke entered heartily into his daugh- 
ter’s scheme, and his purse was open to her for 
means with which to carry it out. If I help 
these to help themselves,” she had said, ‘‘ I render 
250 


THE WEDDING BREAKFAST. 2$I 

them the best possible service.’’ So she set about 
securing for young girls who needed to support 
themselves, a thorough training for the work they 
were to do. 

Mr. Kingsly had been a wise adviser, and 
through him had come to her knowledge the needs 
of some whom she had helped to self-independence. 
Her “ staff,” as she called those who performed 
the active part of this service, found the reward 
that always attends good work faithfully performed. 

Nothing is truer than that those who labor un- 
selfishly find ultimately the highest gain to self. 
Life and character, and right and wrong, came 
to be weighed and understood by these young 
women, who had hardly thought beyond their bangs 
and crochet hooks before their horizon took in 
some share of the world outside of themselves, 
through this new avocation; 

As Miss Vandyke lay in her chair, one day, her 
father noticed more restlessness than was usual 
for her. He seated himself near her and she said 
in a cheerful tone, I have had one of my business 
sittings to-day, and feel a little the worse for wear.” 

‘‘I saw your ‘staff’ passing out,” replied Mr. 
Vandyke ; “ I trust you have good returns from the 
field.” 

“ Excellent, father ; it is a blessed work to us 
all.” Then she was silent, and he waited. 

Drawing her fleecy white shawl a little closer 


252 


THE WEDDING BREAKFAST. 


about her, and gently caressing a bunch of tea 
roses that one of her young friends had laid beside 
her, she continued : Our little protege, Corinne 

Joubert, is proving a jewel. The girls say that 
her singing in hospitals and prisons is having far- 
reaching results, as well as proving a great and 
immediate means of solace and help to those who 
hear her.’’ 

‘‘ She is certainly a very remarkable person, 
my daughter.” 

I am specially thankful that she is so willing 
to go with her wonderful gift of song to the dis- 
tressed and shut-ins.” 

The two talked on for a while, she telling of 
some new applicants for aid and of letters of grat- 
itude from others who had become independent. 
The experience that hurt her was to find that 
there were unworthy ones. 

am full of rejoicing, though,” she said, ^‘when 
I reflect how many are now workwomen who need 
not to be ashamed, in household service, sewing, 
teaching, journalism; a few in medical practice; 
some equipped as teachers of music, and the use 
of pencil and brush, through the efforts of our lit- 
tle group of helpers, who themselves have been 
quickened to worthy living.” 

Mr. Vandyke rose, as if to leave, saying; ‘^Stop 
all business thoughts now, dear, and take a good 
rest.” 


THE WEDDING BREAKFAST. 


253 


‘‘Don’t go yet, father; I am not too weary, and 
I want to ask another favor of you.” 

He resumed his seat and the attitude of listen- 
ing, as he said with an encouraging smile, “Ask 
on, my dear, even to the whole of my kingdom.” 

After a moment’s thought, she began, “Would 
you be willing for me to open Rest Castle for a 
company ? ” 

Checking his surprise, he answered : “ Of course, 
my child, if you desire it. Of what are you think- 
ing.?” 

“ I am thinking of giving a wedding breakfast 
to Mr. Kingsly and his bride, father.” 

“ It would be a very pleasant thing to do, if you 
do not fear the fatigue of it.” 

“ Oh ! I could manage not to be too tired.” 

Tears as unwelcome as they were persistent, 
filled her eyes. Mr. Vandyke noticed it, and 
thought her morning duties had unnerved her. 
He went to a window through which a flood of 
sunshine was pouring with a brightness he thought 
too intense for her. His movement gave her a 
coveted opportunity to dry her eyes and regain 
self-composure. 

“ Certainly, let us give the lovers a right royal 
time,” he began, as he resumed his place near her, 

“It will gratify me, father; and it is just like 
you never to deny me anything.” 

If Mr. Vandyke had not been consulting his 


254 


THE WEDDING BREAKFAST 


watch at the moment, he might have observed the 
effort his daughter used to keep her voice steady, 
as she said, I shall be very glad to help in any 
way that I may, to enhance their happiness.’' 

The attendant came in to announce the evening 
meal. Let mine be served right here this time, 
please,” said Miss Vandyke. The father took his 
cup of tea alone, his thoughts meanwhile dwelling 
on a volume that interested him. 

Leave me now, please,” Miss Vandyke said to 
the attendant, awhile later ; I will ring when I 
need you.” 

To truly apprehend inexorable reality always 
lifts a noble soul to yet higher regions of spiritual 
life. Every tragedy of life is to such a soul some- 
thing as a dash of cold water to one in a nervous 
paroxysm. Miss Vandyke knew that to her had 
come a heart-conflict that she must meet with God 
alone. Between herself and her father there was 
as complete understanding and sympathy as could 
ever exist between father and daughter. In so far 
as nature could ever permit between two so related, 
they were one. But there are crises to the soul, 
when only God can come with help, and such 
had come to this young woman who, it would 
seem, had already suffered and overcome her full 
measure. 

She lay there in the twilight that had fallen over 
the room and bravely took up her case as best she 


THE WEDDING BREAKFAST. 255 

could, to lay it before the Heavenly Father, who 
she knew understood it all without her telling Him 
a word. The strength and comfort of prayer were 
too well know to her, though, to allow her to rest 
the case with Him without first holding it before 
her own gaze, and accepting it as something the 
Father would surely turn into a blessing, if only 
she would let Him. 

She said to herself : My heart must learn at 
once the lesson ; it cannot escape. Self must be 
put aside ; I must rise above this, and go bravely 
on, seeing this happiness quaffed by another, and 
let no thought of murmuring cloud my pleasure 
in helping as I can to make their cup overflow. I 
knew he could never be other than he was to me. 
I did not consider that he might be this to her. 
But then, my friends are so choice and so consid- 
erate of me. Oh, my God and Father, I am one 
of thy crying children ; take me close to Thyself, 
and let me be comforted.” 

Wordsworth Kingsly possessed an infinite ten- 
derness for womankind, yet he was not of the class 
who fall in love easily. 

Not in the remotest sense did any responsibility 
for Miss Vandyke’s unfortunate state of heart rest 
with him. His modest estimate of himself made 
it impossible for him to think that in the friendly 
and advisory association he had long maintained 
with the young lady and her father, and which was 


256 THE WEDDING BREAKFAST. 

always sought by them, there was any danger that 
a deeper attachment would get possession of her 
heart for him. 

‘‘ I am very sure of one thing/’ Miss Vandyke 
went on thinking: “all sorrow that is meant for 
me, I must take up and carry, with God's help; it 
will stop me in the path if I try not to see it, or 
seeing it, try to pass around, and so avoid it. The 
priest and the levite never had the blessing meant 
for them as they journeyed from Jerusalem to Jer- 
icho. No, Father, I take this as Thou dost per- 
mit it, and in Thy strength will carry it." 

All this resignation did not keep Miss Vandyke 
from shrinking, as she looked toward the future, 
or from an occasional feeling that life had sudden- 
ly gone out of the world and left but blackness and 
blankness. Yet these were only momentary feel- 
ings ; the poise of her soul was usually steadfast 
and calm, as the days quickly passed and ushered 
in the eventful morning. 

A yellow flood of autumnal sunshine illumined 
Rest Castle. September was true to her tra- 
ditional character, which with a seeming inconsist- 
ency, causes the country to begin to disrobe and 
give place to leafless nakedness on the eve of 
chilling blasts and uncharitable freezings. 

The season was not of the ordinary, and the 
incipient chill of October was in the air. Russet, 
and the combination of red and brown that makes 


THE WEDDING “BREAKFAST. 


257 


what answers to the name maroon, were beginning 
to give a touch of November glistening to the hill- 
sides. Glowing maples, with interfacing boughs 
forming an arch of rare symmetry and pictur- 
esqueness over an avenue that made the link be- 
tween the outside world and Rest Castle, to-day 
had the appearance of being in sumptuous holiday 
adornment. 

Among the green of the leaves glowed the rich 
warm hues that nature designs for her autumn 
favorites and lavishes upon them only. It was as 
if in their heyday of prosperity, the trees had pro- 
vided themselves with resplendent costumes, and 
reserved them with which to grace the festival 
that marks their waning glory. On such days, 
Miss Vandyke, from her point of view on the 
piazza, indulged the half-dreaming fancy that from 
the palace of the Alhambra she was looking out 
upon the veritable Torres Vermejos, 

The ardent zephyrs of midsummer had moved 
on, and a cool breeziness, that changed the soft 
whispering greetings of the leaves to crisp, hasty 
recognitions, suggestive of less feeling and more 
of activity, had taken their place. 

The city had ceased its heatful panting and 
throbbing. The river, no longer tremulous with 
the ardor of summer, flowed smooth and self-con- 
tained, its mirror surface reduplicating whatever 
of beauty reached it. The verdure of the valley 


258 THE WEDDING BREAKFAST. 

through which the river took its course, had a 
suggestive dusky tinge, not noticeable even the 
day before. The hedges and bordering meadows 
of the river discovered in their floral display more 
of yellow than the summer had shown ; as if, in 
its autumnal equinoxial leave-taking, the sun grew 
tender and kept flinging back generous showers 
of his golden treasures, if perchance they might 
be garnered for cheer and brightness during the 
time of rayless skies. 

In loving sympathy with all of nature's moods. 
Miss Vandyke entered into the spirit of this, and 
requested Daniel to keep the vases near her favor- 
ite place on the piazza, filled with bloom of golden- 
rod until the frost should rob it of all its smile. 

The blue and purple of the distant hills, which 
helped to perfect the beauty of the surroundings 
of Rest Castle, were to-day of the clearest ; the 
outlines of the mountains were graphically printed 
against the sky. In the early morning one of the 
less lofty peaks had tucked her hood of gray about 
her, while a neighboring one, more elevated, had 
stood in bold relief, with summit bared to the 
force and friction of the wind ; emblematic, the 
one of courage, the other of modesty. Can it be 
told which is the rarer, finer virtue ? 

Plants from many climes made the avenue 
one long flower garden, which on this day was 
decorated more unsparingly than ever before. Miss 


THE WEDDING BREAKFAST. 


259 


Vandyke mentally quoting, as she gave her direc- 
tions, ‘‘'The road should blossom, the road should 
bloom,' at such a time as this." 

From a rose bush, on the walk of the avenue, 
there fell silently at intervals a shower of soft, 
creamy white leaves from a blooming so unseason- 
able as to be significant, at the time, of more than 
a mere freak of nature. 

Indoors, from the ample fireplace, which to-day 
was enlivened by the sparkling and crackling of a 
hospitable fire of wood, to the mellow tones of an 
^olian harp, whose cords were stirred by south- 
west breezes, everything spoke of preparation and 
glad expectancy. 

With the first dawnings of morning, Daniel's 
face had been lighted with his characteristic smile. 
Rhody had moved about, accomplishing marvels of 
work, and not forgetting the slightest detail that 
pertained to her department. With her womanly 
mentality and heart she entered fully into the 
event toward which all thoughts at Rest Castle 
were that morning turned. 

“ Now, Dan'l," she said, as she stood with arms 
akimbo, having come from the dining-room, “them 
caterses has done got the whole shebang, an' they'll 
run things to suit theirselves 'till they gits through 
with it." 

“ Well, Rhody, they kin hev thar fine ways fur 
wonst in these yere diggins, but 'tween me'n you, 


26 o 


THE WEDDING BREAKFAST. 


Miss Marget would a heap ruther eat a weddin' 
breakfast o’ your cookin’ than to eat everything all 
the caterses in town could tote out here an’ cook 
fur her.” 

“Guess she won’t eat much of anything this 
mornin’, nohow ; folks can’t eat when they’s that 
happy they don’t know theirselves.” 

“Goodness me, Dan’l, I can’t never git used to 
it, ’pears like ! I never thought she’d git married 
while the world stan’s.” 

“Well, Rhody,” and the two moved toward 
their own quarters, “I guess thar ain’t but one 
man that ever could a got her.” 

“You’re right, ole man, fur wonst in yer life- 
time. Leastways, I tell yer what, it’s as true as 
Scripter that birds uv a feather roost together.” 

“Sure’s you’re livin’ now, they do. Honey, 
’cept when they takes a notion to go ag’in natur’ 
fur some reason or ruther like.” 

“Yes, yes, that’s so, Dan’l; I see what you’re 
gittin’ at. Folks don’t alius stick to thar natur’; 
sometimes they go long with them as ain’t of thar 
kind, ’cause they ’spect to git suthin’ by it. I 
guess that’s pretty much the reason the world is 
so mighty upsot like.” 

“Lemme tell ye, though, Rhody, ef all the git- 
tin’ married in this yer world was as right as fur 
Mr. Kingsly and Miss Marget to tie together, the 
kingdom come would be ’round at wonst, sure, an’ 


THE WEDDING BREAKFAST. 26 1 

no mistake. Why, they was made fur one another, 
same as me an' you wus." 

The church to which Mr. Kingsly ministered 
also wore its winsomest look that late September 
day. There was the grace and perfume of flow- 
ers, and under the touch of the sun, the great 
rose window threw floods of royal, mellow light on 
all within. 

Very cordially Mr. Kingsly had invited the con- 
gregation to a service on Wednesday forenoon, 
adding, ‘‘This will be an occasion of peculiar 
interest to me, and will be conducted by our friend, 
Mr. Blanding, who has returned from his foreign 
travels with renewed health and power." 

The expectant company that filled the church, 
were rewarded for their punctuality by a similar 
promptness on the part of the chief participants 
in the momentous occurrence. 

Never before had the grand organ seemed to 
give forth tones so sweet and assuring as on that 
morning. 

The accustomed hush preceding the whisper, 
“The bride is on the threshold," came and went. 
Before the altar stood the two so soon to be pro- 
nounced one, in all that love can unite. In the 
bowed and chastened old man on whose arm Mar- 
garet leaned, and who gave the bride away, some 
who were present recognized Pierre Strong. 

As Mr. Blanding stepped forward, not a few 


262 


THE WEDDING BREAKFAST. 


were impressed by his changed appearance. The 
familiar form and feature were there, but the 
expression was so different. His step was elastic, 
his voice clear and resonant, and his manner that 
of confident hope. 

His close-cut gray hair was in marked contrast 
to his former flowing locks, and pervading his 
bearing was the impress of earnest concentration 
upon noble themes and pursuits. It was as if the 
mantle of the stately and sensitive Herber had 
fallen upon him. A new inspiration, a new order 
of life, plain living and high thinking,’' were 
showing their power. 

The simple ceremony to which Mr. Kingsly and 
Margaret responded in firm and audible tones was 
over ; friends, acquaintances, and the stranger who 
yet had heart in this scene, had passed out after 
the newly wed, and the church was left alone. 

Miss Vandyke’s inability to be present at the 
marriage ceremony was sufficient reason for ac- 
cepting her request that the wedding breakfast be 
taken at Rest Castle. The invitation included 
only the nearest friends of Margaret and Mr. 
Kingsly, and while a certain stateliness could not 
fail to attend where the Vandykes presided, there 
was true hospitality. 

It seemed only natural for Miss Vandyke to be 
a little more flushed and to falter perceptibly, as 
she offered genuine congratulations to her two 


THE WEDDING BREAKFAST. 263 

friends. Nor was it thought a strange thing, that 
for days after the event she should not leave her 
room, seeing only her father and her constant 
female attendant. 

As time went on, the lines that had been used to 
come and go on her forehead, came and remained. 
The glossy black of her hair had become freely 
mixed with silver, and a pathetic expression often 
rested on her face. She was cheerful, and entered 
with increasing zeal into her work. Her tender- 
ness toward her father deepened as she saw the 
iron gray of his hair and beard become frosted, 
the lines of his face deepen, and his step lose its 
former elasticity ; while their mutual sympathy 
made them more and more to each other. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


AT THE ZENITH. 


“ Mom into noon did pass, noon into eve, 

And the old day was welcome as the young, 
As welcome and as beautiful — in sooth 
More beautiful, as being a thing more holy.” 


— Wordsworth. 


OULD the lavish capacities of all cultured 



tongues be called into requisition, there 
would still be a poverty of ability with which to 
picture adequately a complete home. Words lack 
the soul power, the fervor and glow, with which to 
give even a faint description of the only true sym- 
bol of heaven — an earthly home where love is the 
law. It has been said with more force than pleas- 
antness, that ‘‘The true woman is as yet a dream 
of the future. A just government, a humane 
religion, a pure social life, await her coming.” 
Granting this, the confession might follow that 
the true home has not yet appeared. But a soli- 
tary instance of a great thing proves its necessity 
to humanity and the possibility of its recurrence. 

Wordsworth Kingsly and Margaret were so 


264 


AT THE ZENITH. 


265 


deeply married, so essentially of one lofty aspira^ 
tion, that in their life they worked out the problem 
of a home that meant for them and their children 
a refuge of peace and all sweet and grand harmo- 
nies, a source of impulse to high endeavor, while 
for a wide circle of outside folk it was a place 
where strength, and hope, and comfort were found 
under the guise of a hospitality so ungrudging 
that angels unawares might have been among the 
entertained. 

Since home naturally includes mother, father 
and children, its atmosphere depends upon the 
spirit brought into it by these three elements. 
Nevertheless, it is safe to affirm that wherever in 
all the earth there has existed a home that is in 
any degree like to the kingdom of heaven, some 
woman was the reigning power in it, and in so far 
as she had attained to the supreme stature of a 
complete womanhood, her sovereignty was worthy 
and prevailing. 

It might have been ten years after that wedding 
breakfast at Rest Castle that Mrs. Hale and Mar- 
garet sat in the home of the latter, discussing 
some measures for what they termed ^‘Better 
housekeeping in the public schools of their city.'’ 
Margaret had found herself obliged to yield to the 
urgent call to act as a member of the School Board. 

‘‘You are just the one, Margaret, to bring this 
reform to pass.” 


266 


AT THE ZENITH. 


I seem at present to be the one to try for it, 
Mrs. Hale.’^ 

‘‘Well, there is no other way than to have what 
is asked. Surely the children have a right to 
light and pure air, and so long as that old building 
shuts out the light, and the cellars are left to take 
care of themselves, bad air and lack of light are 
inevitable.'' 

“The world is moving, and some of us must 
lend a hand to keep up the progress," Margaret 
replied. 

“ I was thinking yesterday," resumed Mrs. Hale, 
of the great advance now being made in the edu- 
cational world. Since Reginald is in college, and 
Marjorie is preparing for it, my mind is more on 
such things than heretofore." 

“Let Marjorie be glad that she has fallen upon 
better times than did the Boston girl who, in the 
early days of our century, was accustomed to sit 
on the school-house steps to listen to the recita- 
tions of the boys." 

“Monstrous!" exclaimed Mrs. Hale with em- 
phasis. 

“Too mild a term for it, altogether! It seems 
like a shadow out of the dark ages. How could 
these Puritans, who claimed to be worshippers of 
God, how could they be so blind as to want to 
keep one-half of their children in the darkness of 
ignorance ? The God they claimed to believe in 


AT THE ZENITH. 26/ 

is the Father of lights, all lights possible in earth 
and heaven.” 

Margaret continued with increased earnestness : 
‘‘How precious in His sight, then, must be the 
flashing human intellect, with its possibilities for 
receiving the light of truth ! And how He honors 
us in that we are His agents in helping to unfold 
the minds of the young by leading them into the 
light of knowledge ! ” 

Mrs. Hale looked intently into the fine face of 
her friend, and replied : “ Life is very full and 
blessed to you, Margaret. You are fitted to grasp 
so broadly, and your efforts reach so far, and with 
such telling results. Now as for me, I cannot go 
outside of home very much in any work, without 
being conscious of failing to be all I should be in 
the home. But you are so ample in your nature 
as to have everything for home and much to give 
to the world beyond.” 

“Take care; no such praises, please. I am 
conscious of my own lack. I do count ‘ the world 
as my country and all mankind my countrymen,' 
but I best serve them by first seeing to it that 
the wall is well built over against my own house,” 
said Margaret. 

“Right doctrine, and therefore safe. But it 
would be a great waste of power for you to with- 
hold what you are doing outside the home. That 
last article of yours on “ Uplifting,” has the force 


268 


AT THE ZENITH. 


and the power of a general. I read it to Mr. 
Hale, and what do you suppose he said.^” 

Probably that I was venturing too far from 
land.’’ 

Nothing of the sort ; but he did say, ‘ Our 
Margaret writes with a masterful eloquence’.” 

Tears dimmed Margaret’s eyes for a moment, 
then with a smile that cleared away the tears, she 
replied: ‘^Mr. Hale knows the furnace in which I 
was tried, and from which, as I came out without 
even so much as the smell of fire on my garments, 
I vowed to use whatever power I might possess to 
help others who are tried.” 

After all, Margaret, we learn that in the for- 
mation of character, what are counted trials and 
hindrances are often the most valuable helps.” 

It would seem so,” answered Margaret thought- 
fully. 

^Hf we understood more truly what is the best 
success, we could better appreciate the value of 
obstacles and limitations, against which we are so 
prone to rebel,” resumed Mrs. Hale. 

Yes,” was the reply ; these things often serve 
the highest purpose, and character is chiefly deter- 
mined by the spirit in which we meet and adjust 
ourselves to obstacles.” 

‘‘True; and it may require as noble courage 
and be as great an achievement to make a way 
at all through adverse conditions, even without 


AT THE ZENITH. 


269 


accomplishing anything of which the world takes 
note, as to run a brilliant career in a path already 
cleared.'' 

‘‘ There is a moral tonic in surmounting difficul- 
ties," replied Margaret, ‘‘and the final outcome of 
a life, when all the effort is measured up, is the 
test of individual character." 

As Mrs. Hale rose to take her leave, she said, 
with one of her good-humored, intelligent smiles : 
“ So we come around to where we started in our 
little circle of reasoning; these obstacles in the 
way of the children in the Ward School are to be 
their blessings. By their petition for relief they 
have developed in themselves strength of charac- 
ter heretofore latent." 

In arranging their home, Margaret and Mr. 
Kingsly recognized that it was to be so used as to 
make its influence for good go far beyond the 
threshold. “It must not be," they said, “as a 
lighted candle hidden under a bushel of style, 
ostentatious display, and cold-hearted neglect of 
the divinely-appointed uses of hospitality." 

Before passing judgment and deciding upon the 
impracticableness of their course, consider the “per- 
fect defense and isolation, the insuperable protec- 
tion," that good manners afford those who possess 
them. 

To say that there were not some who, for the 
sake of the loaves and fishes, came too often, staid 


2^0 


AT THE ZENITH. 


too long, and made themselves trespassers gener- 
ally, would be to fail of the truth. But in compar- 
ison with this limited few, place the number of 
those of whom it may be said that their chief 
want in life is to find somebody who could make 
them do what they could do ; hungry souls who, 
by friendly contact with their fellows, learn to 
take heart and fill their appointed places in the 
world with new courage. 

Nor were these all who found the charm of the 
Kingsly home a valued privilege. Men and 
women eminent in thought, philanthropy and 
religion, lent their presence and shared the wise 
counsel and conversation of their peers, Margaret 
and her husband always being the center and the 
leading spirits. 

An evening following soon after one of these 
receptions, as Margaret and Mr. Kingsly sat in 
the family-room for ‘‘a cosy chat together,” he 
said : I call to mind a day in this same month, 
the matronly September, when you and I first 
told it out to our world that we would take the 
journey of life together. Does the time seem 
long to you, my Margaret.^” 

She turned toward him a deep, sweet gaze that 
made truer, better answer than the spoken words 
with which she followed : I tremble at its short- 
ness. As I look back over the road, it seems but a 
little link that holds the past and future together.” 


AT THE ZENITH. 


271 


‘‘You are younger now than then, my sweet 
wife, if looks are truth-tellers.’' 

“The world and all in it seems younger to me 
every day of my life with you. The dew and 
bloom of beginnings seem to rest on everything. 
Only when I look at our boys, so rapidly coming 
to be tall as their mother, do I realize the pass- 
ing of time.” 

These two had lived long enough together in 
true union for their happiness to find more and 
more distinct articulation. Their love was of that 
sort which brings rest and strength increasingly, 
as the years go by. Side by side as they were on 
the sofa, it was only to be expected that the hand 
she so naturally rested beside her should nestle 
into his, not far away. 

“ Let me tell you, dear, what you remind me of 
this evening,” he said, in his ‘caressing voice’, 
always most eloquent when speaking to his wife; 
“may I ? ” 

“ Have your way; I think I can trust you,” was 
the answer, her face lighting with pleased interest. 

“Well, you are one of Nature’s unwritten bal- 
lads, always rythmical and delicious, and not heard 
by too many ears, nor even always reaching the 
ear, but ever singing to the inmost soul.” 

The amused look in her face gave place to one 
of loving seriousness, and he continued : “ It awes 
me to think of all it meant for the Lord to let you 


2/2 


AT THE ZENITH. 


come to me. He has endowed you so richly 
because He means you to be a blessing not only 
to your own, but to the world outside.” 

Margaret replied quite seriously : It frightens 
me to have you talk so. I am nothing. Do not 
try to make me believe these things. If the 
Father will use me, I am very thankful. The 
radiance of your love and sympathy brightens and 
beautifies whatever comes to me of enjoyment or 
service, and soothes every sorrow. Surely good- 
ness and mercy follow me ; my cup runneth over. 
Can you understand when I say that the very 
peace that is in my soul sometimes seems like a 
weight to me ? ” 

‘‘Yes; I understand, and I think it is the ele- 
ment of gratitude that causes what you call a 
weight ; the feeling that for so much given there 
ought to be so much of self in return.” 

A lift of her fine eyes was Margaret’s answer, 
and he continued, “For me, as I look toward the 
future to be spent with you, the road seems smooth 
as an unawakened conscience.” 

That so many loves which at first seem absorb- 
ing, perish with the using, is because of lack of 
the heavenly in them. Some one has beautifully 
put this vital truth, “Love without religion is the 
plucked rose.” Withering straightway, because 
there was no root. Infinite development is one of 
the possibilities of a human love grounded in that 


AT THE ZENITH. 


273 


of supreme allegiance to Him who is love. This 
marvel betwixt the man and the woman” is what 
George MacDonald calls, ^'the hold that God has 
of us with His right hand.” 

These two had that rare and inestimable advan- 
tage of finding in each other an inspiration to the 
highest possibilities for themselves and for others. 
In talking, or in the intervals of deep silence 
that wandered into sound that was felt,” their 
evening went by. 

The tempered light in the room had grown 
more mellow as the fire of logs had burned low. 
Still they lingered and talked; listened each to 
the other as eagerly as if they were hearing one 
another for the first time. 

^‘As we become better acquainted with the 
meaning of life,” he said, ‘‘we are convinced that 
‘character, the sum of qualities that distinguishes 
one individual from another', is presumably all 
that in the sight of God forms any distinction 
between people.” 

“That lesson has been firmly impressed upon 
me,” she replied; “and the further and more diffi- 
cult lesson, that all His ways toward humanity are 
for the purpose of developing excellence in char- 
acter. Every event, however trying, may, by His 
sure help, become a step by which nobler heights 
are reached.” 

“ That is a high ideal, but it is the true one, and 


274 


AT THE ZENITH. 


I have thought more strength of character is nec- 
essary to meet the prosperous, than the adverse 
state.” 

^‘How do you define prosperity.!^” she asked; 
<^it is a broad and deep term.” 

“In a worldly sense, to be prosperous may mean 
to have money; it may mean to possess great 
powers of mind ; it may mean to be able to enlarge 
on a glorious ancestry; but of just one class does 
God say, ' Whatsoever he doeth shall prosper of 
those whose ‘delight is in the law of the Lord’.” 

“ How the world would be lifted, if people lived 
in the welcome realization of this, and what a help 
it would be toward ‘kindling the inner, genial life, 
and awakening the heroic that slumbers in every 
heart ’,” replied Margaret, her face beaming with 
enthusiasm. 

Finally they rose, went and looked out from a 
window that commanded a view of a pretty little 
park near by. The gentle splash from a fountain 
sounded distinct through the peaceful night air. 
On its waters, in the basin below, the shimmer 
and sheen from the opalescent light of the full 
moon upon them, trembled in the live, autumn 
breeze. The lifeless old planet beamed upon them, 
as upon all true lovers, with a face that looked 
friendly and glad. 

He broke the fascinating silence : “There hardly 
seems any more night to me. The light in my 


AT THE ZENITH. 


275 


life brightens all time, and, looking beyond the 
shores of this limited sphere, I see an increasing 
effulgence.*' 

She laid one of her shapely hands on his arm, 
as she said, My husband, we two have the incom- 
parable blessing of helping to unfold for each 
other in our true marriage the ‘mystery of har- 
mony, which is unity*." 

He took her hand as she spoke, and holding it 
in both of his own, replied: “And now, all of this 
good that has come to us means a debt we owe 
and acknowledge to the needy around us.** 

“Yes,** she answered; “and in every human 
soul there must be a seed of good, which, under 
the warm soil of encouraging kindness, will find 
the light and grow to its true measure.** 

And he responded, “May He who alone can 
bring anything to perfection help our endeavor 
that every one whom we can influence may become 
superior to circumstances.** 


THE END. 


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Illustrated Stories for Young 
Folks. 


Youn^ Folks’ Cyclopedia of Stories. Quarto, 

cloth, 3.00. 

Contains in one large book the following stories with many illus- 
trations ; Five Little Peppers, Two Young Homesteaders, Royal 
Lowrie’s Last Year at St. Olaves, The Dogberry Bunch, Young 
Rick, Nan the New-Fashioned Girl, Good-for-Nothing Polly and 
The Cooking Club of Tu-Whit Hollow. 


What the Seven Did ; or, the Doings of the Wordsworth 
Club. By Margaret Sidney. Quarto, boards, 1.75. 

The Seven are little girl neighbors who meet once a week at 
their several homes. They helped others and improved them- 
selves. 


Me and My Dolls. By L. T. Meade. Quarto, 50 cts. 
A family history. Some of the dolls have had queer adventures. 
Twelve full-page illustrations by Margaret Johnson. 


Little Wanderers in Bo-Peep’s World. Quarto, 

boards, double lithograph covers, 50 cts. 


Polly and the Children. By Margaret Sidney. Boards, 
quarto, 50 cts. 

The story of a funny parrot and two charming children. The 
parrot has surprising adventures at the children’s party and wears 
a medal after the fire. 


Five Little Peppers. By Margaret Sidney, ramo, 1.50. 
Story of five little children of a fond, faithful and capable 
** mamsie.” Full of young life and family talk. 


Seal Series. 10 vols., boards, double lithographed covers, 
quarto. 

Rocky Fork, Old Caravan Days, The Dogberry Bunch, by 
Mary H. Catherwood; The Story of Honor Bright and Royal 
Lowrie’s Last Year at St. Olaves, by Charles R. Talbot; Their 
Club and Ours, by John Preston True; From the Hudson to the 
Neva, by David Ker; The Silver City, by Fred A. Ober; Two 
Young Homesteaders, by Theodora Jenness; The Cooking Club 
of Tu-whit Hollow, by Ella Farman. 


Cats’ Arabian Nights. By Abby Morton Diaz. Quarto, 
cloth, 1.75 ; boards, 1.25. 

The wonderful cat story of cat stories told by Pussyanita that 
•aved the lives of all the cats. 


Young Folks’ Illustrated 
Quartos. 

de Awake Volumfe» Z. Quarto, boards, 1.75. 

Gq d literature and art have been put into this volume. Henry 
l^aco', ’s paper about Rosa Bonheur, the great painter of horsey 
and 1 ms, and Steffeck’s painving of Queen Louise with Kaiser 
Williik .m would do credit to any Art publication. 


Ck. t Chat for Boys and Girls. Quarto, boards, 75 cts. 
A vdume of selected pieces upon every conceivable subject. 
As a c'istinctive feature it devotes considerable space to Home 
Life ai.d Sports and Pastimes. 


Good Cheer for Boys and Girls. 

Short stories, sketches, poems, bits of history biography an 4 
natural history. 


Cur Little Men and Women for 1888. Quarto, 

boards, 1.50. 

No boys and girls who have this book can be ignorant beyond 
their years of history, natural history, foreign sights or the good 
times of other boys and girls. 


Baby land for 1888 . Quarto, boards, 75 cts. 

Finger plays, cricket stories. Tales told by a Cat and scores of 
jingles and pictures. Large print and easy words. Colored 
frontispiece. 


King’s and Queens at Home.^ By Frances A. Hum- 
phrey. Quarto, boards, 50 cts. 

Short-story accounts of living royal personages. 


Queen Victoria at Home. By Frances A. Humphrey. 
Quarto, boards, 50 cts. 

Pen picture of a noble wornan It will aid in educating the 
heart by presenting the domestic side of the queen’s character. 


Stories about Favorites Authors. By Frances A. 
Humphrey. Quarto, boards, 50 cts. 

Little literature lessons for little boys and girls. 


Child Lore. Edited by Cara Doty Bates. Quarto, cloth, 
tinted edges, 2.25; boards, 1.50. 

More than 50,000 copies sold. The most successful quarto for 
children. 


Helpful Books for Young Folks. 


Dang'er Signals. By Rev. F. E. Clark, President ol 
the United Society of Christian Endeavor. i2mo, cloth, 75 cts. 

The enemies of youth from the business man’s standpoint. 
The substance of a series of addresses delivered two or thre^ 
years ago in one of the Boston churches. 


Marion Harland’s Cookery for Beginners. lamo, 

vellum cloth, 75 cts. 

The untrained housekeeper needs such directions as will not 
confuse and discourage her. Marion Harland makes her book 
simple and practical enough to meet this demand. 


Bible Stories. ^ By Laurie Loring. 4to, boards, 35 cts. 
Very short stories with pictures. The Creation, Noah and the 
Dove, Samuel, Joseph, Elijah, the Christ Child, the Good Shep- 
herd, Peter, etc. 


The Magic Pear, Oblong, 8vo, boards, 75 cts. 

Twelve outline drawing lessons with directions for the amuse- 
ment of little folks. They are genuine pencil puzzles for untaught 
fingers. A pear gives shape to a dozen animal pictures. 


What O’clock Jingles. By Margaret Johnson. Ob- 
long, 8vo, boards, 75 cts. 

Twelve little counting lessons. Pretty rhymes for small chil- 
dren. Twenty-seven artistic illustrations by the author. 


Ways for Boys to Make and Do Things. 60 cts. 

Eight papers by as many different authors, on subjects that in- 
terest boys. A book to delight active boys and to inspire lazy 
ones. 


Our Young Folks at Home. 4to, boards, i.oo. 
A collection of illustrated prose stories by American authors and 
artists. It is sure to make friends among children of all ages. 
Colored frontispiece. 


Peep of Day Series. 3 vols., 1.20 each. 

Peep of Day, Line upon Line, Precept upon Precept. Ser- 
monettes for the children, so cleverly preached that the children 
will not grow sleepy. 


Home Primer. Boards, square, 8vo, 50 cts. 

A book for the little ones to learn to read in before they are old 
enough to be sent off to school. 100 illustrations. 


Natural History 


Stories and Pictures of Wild Animals. By Anna 
F. Burnham. Quarto, boards, 75 cts. 

Big letters, big pictures and easy stories of elephants, lions, 
tigers, lynxes, jaguars, bears and many others. 

Life and Habits of Wild Animals. Quarto, cloth, 

1.50- 

The very best book young folks can have if they are at all in- 
terested in Natural History. If they are not yet interested it will 
make them so. Illustrated from designs by Joseph Wolf. 

Children’s Out-Door Neig-hbors. By Mrs. A. E. 
Aridersen-Maskell. 3 volumes, lamo, cloth, each i.oo. 

Three instructive and interesting books : Children with Animals, 
Children with Birds, Children with Fishes. The author has the 
happy faculty of interesting boys and girls in the wonderful neigh- 
bors around them and that without introducing anything which is 
not borne out by the knowledge of learned men. 

Some Animal Pets. By Mrs. Oliver Howard. Quarto, 
boards, 35 cts. 

The experiences of a Colorado family with young, wild and 
tame animals. It is one of the pleasantest animal books we have 
met in many a day. Well thought, well written, well pictured, 
the book itself, apart from its contents, is attractive. F ull page 
pictures. 

Tiny Folk in Bed and Black. Quarto, boards, 35 cts. 

The tiny folk are ants and they make as interesting a study as 
human folk — perhaps more interesting in the opinion of some. 
The book gives a full and graphic description of their many wise 
and curious ways — how they work, how they harvest their grain, 
how they milk their cows, etc. It will teach the children to keep 
eyes and ears open. 

My Land and Water Friends. By Mary E. Bam- 
ford. Seventy illustrations by Bridgman. Quarto, cloth, 1.50. 

The frog opens the book with a “talk” about himself, in the 
course of which ho tells us all about the changes through which 
he passes before he arrives at perfect froghood. Then the grass- 
hopper talks and is followed by others, each giving his view of 
life from his own individual standpoint. 


Tilting at Windmills i A Story of the Blue 
Grass Country. By Emma M. Connelly. Boston ; 
D. Lothrop Company. 12mo, $1.50. 

Not since the days of “ A Fool’s Errand ” has so 
strong and so characteristic a “ border novel ” been 
brought to the attention of the public as is now 
presented by Miss Connelly in this book which she 
so aptly terms “ Tilting at Windmills.” Indeed, it 
is questionable whether Judge Tourgee’s famous 
book touched so deftly and yet so practically the 
real phases of the reconstruction period and the 
interminable antagonisms of race and section. 

The self-sufficient Boston man, a capital fellow 
at heart, but tinged with the traditions and envi- 
ronments of his Puritan ancestry and conditions, 
coming into his strange heritage in Kentucky at 
the close of the civil war, seeks to change by in- 
stant manipulation all the equally strong and deep- 
rooted traditions and environments of Blue Grass 
society. 

His ruthless conscience will allow of no com- 
promise, and the people whom he seeks to prose- 
lyte alike misunderstand his motives and spurn his 
proffered assistance. 

Presumed errors are materialized and partial 
evils are magnified. Allerton tilts at windmills 
and with the customary Quixotic results. He is, 
seemingly, unhorsed in every encounter. 

Miss Connelly’s work in this, her first novel, will 
make readers anxious to hear from her again and 
it will certainly create, both in her own and other 
States, a strong desire to see her next forthcoming 
work announced by the same publishers in one of 
their new series — her “ Story of the State of Ken- 
tucky.” 


About Giants. By Isabel Smithson. Boston ; 
D. Lothrop Company. Price 60 cents. In this 
little volume Miss Smithson has gathered together 
many curious and interesting facts relating to 
real giants, or people who have grown to an ex- 
traordinary size. She does not believe that there 
was ever a race of giants, but that those who are 
so-called are exceptional cases, due to some freak 
of nature. Among those described are Cutter, 
the Irish giant, who was eight feet tall, Tony 
Payne, whose height exceeded seven feet, and 
Chang, the Chinese giant, who was on exhibition 
in this country a few years ago. The volume 
contains not only accounts of giants, but also of 
dwarfs, and is illustrated. 


American Authors. By Amanda B. Harris. 
Boston: D. Lothrop Company. Price $1.00. This 
is one of the books we can heartily commend to 
young readers, not only for its interest, but for 
the information it contains. All lovers of books 
have a natural curiosity to know something about 
their writers, and the better the books, the keener 
the curiosity. Miss Harris has written the various 
chapters of the volume with a full appreciation of 
this fact. She tells us about the earlier group of 
American writers, Irving, Cooper, Prescott, Emer- 
son, and Hawthorne, all of whom are gone, and 
also of some of those who came later, among 
them the Cary sisters, Thoreau, Lowell, Helen 
Hunt, Donald G. Mitchell and others. Miss Har- 
ris has a happy way of imparting information, and 
the boys and girls into whose hands this little 
book may fall will find it pleasant reading. 


The Art of Living. From the Writings of 
Samuel Smilss. With Introduction by the ven- 
erable Dr. 1 eabody of Harvard University, and 
Biographical Sketch by the editor, Carrie Adelaide 
Cooke. Bos on : D. Lothrop Company. Price 
^ 1 . 00 . 

Samuel Siiiiles is the Benjamin Franklin of Eng- 
land. His sayings have a similar terseness, apt- 
ness and forc3 ; they are directed to practical ends^ 
like Franklin s ; they have the advantage of being 
nearer our tii le and therefore more directly related 
to subjects ipon which practical wisdom is of 
practical use 

Success in life is his subject all through. The Art 
of Living ; arid he confesses on the very first page 
that “ happin ess consists in the enjoyment of little 
pleasures sea .tered along the common path of life, 
which in the eager search for some great and ex- 
citing joy we are apt to overlook. It finds delight 
in the perfoimance of common duties faithfully 
and honorabl/ fulfilled.” 

Let the reac er go back to that quotation again and 
consider how contrary it is to the spirit that under- 
lies the busint isses that are nowadays tempting men 
to sudden fortune, torturing with disappointments 
nearly all wb » yield, and burdening the successful 
beyond their andurance, shortening lives and mak- 
ing them wea ry and mqst of them empty. 

Is it w^orth while to join the mad rush for the 
lottery ; or tc take the old road to slow success ? 

This book < )f the chosen thoughts of a rare phil- 
osopher leads to contentment as well as wisdom ; 
for, when we choose the less brilliant course be- 
cause we are mre it is the best one, we have the 
most complet 3 and lasting repose from anxiety. 


MonteaGLE. By Pansy. Boston.* B. Lothrop 
Company. Price 75 cents. Both girls and boys 
will find this story of Pansy’s pleasant and profit- 
able reading. Dilly West is a character whom the 
first will find it an excellent thing to intimate, and 
boys will find in Hart Hammond a noble, manly, 
fellow who walks for a time dangerously near 
temptation, but escapes through providential in- 
fiuences, not the least of which is the steady 
devotion to duty of the young girl, who becomes 
an unconscious power of good. 

A Dozen of Them. By Pansy. Boston: D. 
liOthrop Company. Price 60 cents. A Sunday- 
school story, written in Pansy’s best vein, and 
having for its hero a twelve-year-old boy who has 
been thrown upon the world by the death of his 
parents, and who has no one left to look after 
him but a sister a little older, whose time is fully 
occupied in the milliner’s shop where she is em- 
ployed. Joe, for that is the boy’s name, finds a 
place to work at a farmhouse where there is a small 
private school. His sister makes him promise to 
learn by heart a verse of Scripture every month. 
It is a task at first, but he is a boy of his word, 
and he fulfills his promise, with what results the 
reader of the story will find out. It is an excellent 
book for the Sunday-school. 

At Home and Abroad. Stories from The Pansy 
Boston: D. Lothrop Company. Price, $1.00. A 
score of short stories which originally appeared 
in the delightful magazine, The Pansy, have been 
here brought together in collected form with the 
illustrations which originally accompanied them. 
They are from the pens of various authors, and 
are bright, instructive and entertaininge 


There is nothing more refreshing to pick up In 
odd minutes than a bright collection out of the 
looetry of all time of the brightest on almost no 
matter what subject, even the weather. 

rhrougli the Year with the Poets, edited by Oscar Fay 
Adams. A volume a month of about 140 pages each, with 
ample indices. 16mo, cloth, 75 cents each; parti-colored cloth, 
$ 1 . 00 . 

And dainty book-making has much to do with 
the pleasure of scrappy reading. 

New Every Morning, a year-book for girls, by 
Annie H. Ryder, is a helpful thought or two, out of 
current writers mainly, for every day in the year; 
not religious, but chosen for serious aptitude to 
the state of things in the world we live in. 196 
pages. Square 16mo, cloth. $1.00. 

Notable Prayers of Christian History. By Hez- 
ekiah Butterworth. So far as we k:iow, there is 
no other book in which are gathered the notable 
prayers of devout men of all times with their 
biographical and historical connections. 304 pages. 
16mo, cloth, 1.00 

Let not the bookseller venture a word on sc ab- 
struse a subject as Browning. 

Christmas Eve and Easter Day, and Other Poems. By 
Robert Browning. Introduction by W. J. Rolfe. The Theory 
of Robert Browning concerning Personal Immortality by 
HeloiseEdwinaHersey. With notes. 175pag’!S. 16mo, cloth, 
75 cents. 

For Browning Classes and Clubs. The text is 
in very generous type. 

Faith and Action is an F. D. Maurice Anthology. 
Preface by Phillips Brooks. The subjects are: 
Life, Men, Reforms, Books, Art, Duty, Aspira- 
tion, Faith, 269 padres. 12mo, cloth, $1.00. 


How to Cook Well is promising ritle. The au- 
thor, J. Rosalie Benton. We light on this sen- 
tence on breakfast: “Yet in how many families 
is it the custom to send the master of the house 
to his daily round of business with an unsatisfied 
feeling after partaking of a hurried meal alto- 
gether unpalatable ! That is still more promis- 
ing. There are 400 pages of performance. 12mo, 
cloth, $1.50. 

One of the ways to get some notions of things 
into young folks’ heads without any work on their 
part is to tell them stories and weave in the 
knowledge. 

Another way is to make a book of such stories. 
The book has the advantage of the story-teller. 
It can be full of pictures ; and one can be more 
careful in making a book than in talking. If his 
memory slips a little, he can stop and hunt up the 
facts. 

Story Book of Science. By Lydia Hoyt Farmer. Illus- 
trated. 330 pages. 12mo, cloth, $1.50. 

There are twenty different stories and seventy^ 
five pictures. A surprising number of bits of 
knowledge are woven and pictured in; and the 
book is as light and easy as if it were nonsense. 

There’s so much to know nowadays. Children 
have to begin before they know it. 


Waifs and their Authors is a collection, by A. 
A. Hopkins, of poetry worthy of preservation, 
mainly out of newspapers and by living writers 
not yet ranked as Poets — with notes, personal, 
biographical, critical, genial always, under twenty' 
one names. 317 pages. 








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